


The Demon of the Galactic World

by Ronnie300Fan91



Series: The Demon of the Galactic World/The Thousand Year's War Sagas and Setting [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), Multi-Fandom, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Accents, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Badass, Blood and Gore, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Death from Old Age, Deceased Family, Demonic Possession, Developing Relationship, Epic Battles, F/M, Fish out of Water, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Half-orc, Harad, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Magic and Science, Mass Effect 1, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3, Minor Character Death, Multi, Off-Screen Missions, Orc Culture, Past Relationship(s), Plot Twists, Portals, Post-Mass Effect 3, References to Drugs, Sad Ending, Science Fiction, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Some Humor, Spacer (Mass Effect), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, The Reaper War, Third Age, War of the Ring, indoctrination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-04-22 17:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronnie300Fan91/pseuds/Ronnie300Fan91
Summary: Dâgalûr, the most powerful of the Orcs of Mordor, was ripped from his homeland.The half-breed was stuck in a galaxy ruled by several new species, divided in most aspects, yet united against a common foe. He joined the crew of The Normandy, under Commander Jane Shepard, and went on a quest to save this new, strange universe from an ancient evil, while (hopefully) cracking some skulls along the way.WIP from FF.Net, Not Tolkien nor Bioware approved.
Relationships: (SPOILERS AHEAD) Tali'Zorah nar Rayya/Dâgalûr, Aragorn | Estel & Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, EDI/Jeff "Joker" Moreau, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Frodo Baggins & Sam Gamgee, Jane Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Javik/Liara T'Soni, Liara T'soni & Laga, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The Demon of the Galactic World/The Thousand Year's War Sagas and Setting [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597843
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue: From the Domain of Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hey, everybody, name's Ronnie300Fan91, just call me Ronnie. I've been working on refining this story for a while, but never had the guts to publish it here. I finally built up the courage to publish it here, and, well, here it is. This is my first story, so constructive criticism that will allow me to strengthen my writing skills in the future is openly welcome and appreciated, but flames and pure hate reviews will not be tolerated. This story begins during Shepard's first visit to the Citadel in Mass Effect 1, and directly before the Ringwraiths depart from Minas Morgul in Fellowship of the Ring. I plan on writing another fic that will serve as a backstory for Dâgalûr, our protagonist/anti-hero, but that won't be released until I reach the end of the events of Mass Effect 2 in this fic, as to avoid massive spoilers (even the first chapter of my planned origin story would completely spoil this fic). Also, this fic is rated Mature for a reason. Expect copious amounts of blood/gore and a good amount of cursing, ranging from mild to severe (f-bombs will be dropped casually at times). I am not responsible for anybody's reaction to the cruelty and indecency shown in this story. There will be romantic encounters, including smut, but it's wholesome smut, promise! You've been warned. You didn't come to read my ramblings, so let us begin this journey.
> 
> NOTES: Some elements from various video game adaptations of The Lord of the Rings (Namely Middle Earth: Shadow of Mordor, Middle Earth: Shadow of War, War In The North, The Third Age, and The Battle For Middle Earth II) are going to be taken as head-canonical, along with various references to other universes/IPs and various things I made up to fill in the blanks left behind by Tolkien. This fic will primarily use the Peter Jackson film trilogy's depiction of the physical appearance of characters and what not, but the event dates given in the Appendices of The Return of the King will be the dates of the events that occur in Middle-Earth in this fic, and things from the book that weren't included in the films (such as Tom Bombadil and Dol Amroth) will also be referenced or used. I attempted to make this story as canonically faithful to both The Lord of the Rings and the Mass Effect trilogy, but it is not canon nor do I acknowledge it as such. Dâgalûr and all other OCs that will appear in this story belong to me unless stated otherwise, Middle-Earth and LOTR belong to J.R.R Tolkien and his estate, The LOTR video game license belongs to WB Games, and Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.

"The world is changed… I feel it in the water… I feel it in the Earth… I smell it in the air… Much that once was is lost. For none now live who remember it." -Galadriel

** _The Demon Of The Galactic World_ **

"It began with the forging of the great rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings, seven to the Dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls, and nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men — who above all else, desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived; for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master ring, to control all others, and into this Ring, he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. One Ring to rule them all." -Galadriel

* * *

In the beginning, there was nothing. But the Ainur sang the Ainulindalë, the world-song, to create the world. Their beautiful music created Eä, the universe. The song was only intended to create one single universe, but it rippled out into the nothingness. The music traveled beyond the edges of the Void, and its harmony brought life to millions of other universes, each unique in one way or another. The Father took pity upon these universes, blessing each one of them with life, but the Ainur had no knowledge of these universes, only knowing of Eä. The Father made every attempt possible to conceal the existence of these worlds, for fear of the spread of Morgoth's corruption and malevolence, but when sorcerers and apprentices dabble in the arcane arts, the will of The Father, and the workings of the universe- and the many others surrounding it- mean nothing. Dâgalûr, the left hand of the Dark Lord himself, was one such unfortunate soul caught in the crossfire.

An accident in some far-off cult of magic in the East had caused tears in the fabric between universes to open, and one such portal had brought him to a strange new galaxy of different alien races, each with its own culture, achievements, and goals, all pettily squabbling with each other while an ancient evil reared its head. Ripped from his homeland, and with no other options (save jail), He joined the crew of The Normandy SR-1, under Commander Jane Shepard, and embarked on a quest to save this new, strange world from extermination, and hopefully watch his old one burn in the process.

* * *

** _Prologue: From The Domain Of Shadow_ **

The ash from Mount Doom polluted the air of the tainted landscape, seeping into the plateau's soil and forming thick, dark clouds of smog, which blotted out the sun's rays. The ever-watching Eye of Sauron looked down upon the barren landscape, its piercing gaze ensuring that nobody entered or escaped from Mordor. The only sounds to be heard were worn bits of metal clanking against metal and inhuman yelps and growls from the pits in the far off distance.

A figure, man-sized, came into the view of the Eye. The contrast between the ghostly, pale complexion of most of his face and the shade of deep greyish-ebony of his plate armor was striking. From a distance, he could easily be mistaken for a man, but the region around his left eye revealed more than mere words could tell of an internal struggle between man and orc, between hatred and emotions. Scars littered his face, and his scowl could kill. On his back, a black, torn cape of Mûmak leather flew gently in the foul breeze. Atop his head sat a helmet, forged from the same metal as his armor, that bore a horizontal crest and was flanked by two hornlike spikes, one on each side.

Orcish legends claim he took the skulls of a thousand Uruk and arranged them into a pyramid to appease Lord Sauron. Others would state that he killed 3 graugs with his bare hands. One thing was certain among the Uruk clans and tribes of Mordor: Dâgalûr the Half-Uruk, Grand Marshal of the Hosts of Mordor, was a force to be reckoned with.

Dâgalûr rode atop Bolgdyr, the once-feared Caragor Pack-Leader of Nurnen. He lead a small battalion of the usual lot; sniveling, shrieking orcs from the tribes, men that were either greedy enough or unfortunate enough to come under Sauron's grasp, a feral, frothing warg on a leash here and there, and whatnot. It was all Dâgalûr had been doing for the last few years. Escort troops at point A to point B, Watch over this, monitor that. It was mind-numbingly boring. It wasn't as if there was an ever-present threat of Mordor being sacked by the Westerners, and he needed to minimize casualties from skirmishes with plunderers. Since the Shadow Wars ended and the tribes united, the only violence to be had was when disputes over plunder occurred.

He yearned for the times he could spread mayhem to the Free Peoples of these lands, but those were few and far apart, much to his dismay. Dâgalûr couldn't wait for Gondor to pay him back for the lives of those he once cared for with the blood of its sons and daughters.

He focused his attention to the task at hand again, "Pick up your feet, you worthless gits! Crack the whips harder before I hang ya from racks 'nd take yer hides as trophies!"

The taskmasters cracked their whips on the backs of the troops much harder, to the point where Dâgalûr could've sworn he heard the snapping and cracking of bones. Blood was dripping down the backs of those unfortunate enough to not have adequate back-plates, indicating the taskmasters were doing their jobs a little too well. Nevertheless, the pace of the troops accelerated to a fast walk as they attempted to evade and escape the lashes. The camp wasn't too far away, but it seemed like it would take an eternity for those being flogged to near-death.

Some of the more rebellious among the rabble began to instinctively speak out against Dâgalûr, despite knowing their punishment would increase tenfold.

"Woi's it dat we's gotta suffa woile yer fat arse gets ter push us 'round? You's ain't even a real orc!" cried a sniveling, pus-yellow skinned runt.

"Yeah, right, 'e's right! Roight! I'm bloody well not takin' dis shite from yer!" yelled an unsightly brown Uruk.

One of his own taskmasters was the next to attack him verbally. "They's got a point! Oi! You's so chummy wiv Sauron, right, but you's nuffink more than a 'og in armor. If we kill yer, we're bound ter 'ave yer place by 'is side!"

That little outburst was nothing short of mutiny. Had they not heard of what happened to those who were foolish enough to oppose Dâgalûr? He swiftly dismounted Bolgdyr, his boots crunching the pebbles underneath. Shoving his way past many a man and orc, he reached the orcs who foolishly opened their gobs. He may have been packing on the pounds faster than just a few years ago, but he was no pushover.

"OI! LEMME SHOW'S YA 'OW I CLIMBED ME WAY UP TER DA TOP!" He screamed, tackling the smallest among them.

A circle formed around the four orcs. The bystanders roared with glee as they watched the carnage unfold. The taskmaster jumped up on Dâgalûr's back, and tried to dig his claws into Dâgalûr's throat while he focused on the small one, but he responded to this by falling backwards, crushing the bones of the taskmaster with a sickening crunch. A 300-pound half-uruk in a 100-pound suit of armor was no match for the frail frame of the orc, and he choked and sputtered on his own blood, his windpipe damaged beyond repair. The crowd dragged his body into the fray, and tore into his flesh while he let out wheezy shrieks.

The Uruk took the opportunity to kick Dâgalûr while he was on the ground, causing him to vomit, but broke his toes by doing so. He yelped in pain, clenching his foot, and Dâgalûr rose, wiping the spittle from his mouth. He growled, drew a small dagger from his belt, and dashed towards the Uruk, who blocked the stab with his spear just in time. The small Orc ran up to Dâgalûr while he was distracted and slammed a mace into his leg, sending him to the ground once more.

"Not so 'igh and moighty now, are yer, git?" the orc said.

The orc was cut off by a sweeping kick by Dâgalûr. He fell to the ground and his head connected with a large rock, opening up an unsightly wound. The Uruk went in for vengeance while Dâgalûr dealt with the orc, but was swiftly taken down to the ground with a punch to the temple as Dâgalûr turned around. Black, viscous blood began to leak from his nose as he stumbled about in a haze. Dâgalûr took the opportunity to grab the orc's head and continuously slam it into the rock until nothing but a pulpy mixture of blood, brain matter, cartilage, and skull bits remained. The crowd quickly swarmed the carcass and began to dig in, just as they had with the taskmaster's remains.

"Two down, one more ter go."

The Uruk was unable to recover fast enough before he felt Dâgalûr's clawed gauntlets digging into his stomach. His vision was blurred, but he could feel an excruciating pain coming from his midsection as something wet and slippery gripped around his neck. Soon enough he realized he was being strangled with his own intestines. The light began to drain out of his eyes as the Uruk drew his last breaths, his remains left by the crowd for the Morgul Bats and crows to pick apart.

"Oi!," Dâgalûr began to huff and puff from exhaustion. "get a move on, ladz! One rabble ain't gon ter mean you's all gets a break!"

He remounted Bolgdyr and began to catch his breath, taking a flask from another Uruk as he reached for the reins. He opened it up and inspected its contents. The putrid smell could only be one thing: _ grog _. Dâgalûr took a few swigs from the flask before tossing it back to the Uruk. He felt somewhat rejuvenated from the drink, but it would not heal his leg injury, the claw marks on his throat, and the many bruises from his falls.

The battalion continued their march as the taskmasters became increasingly unforgiving with their duty. By the time the unit reached the camp, a trail of tar-like blood had been left behind, and it stretched several yards back. Those unlucky enough to be struck multiple times had lost so much blood that they could barely stand, most collapsing from exhaustion. It seeped through their armor, and stained their crude cloth shirts with a deep, inky hue. A few casualties were nothing to Dâgalûr. Death and injury were simply as much a part of life in Mordor as sharp, pointy objects and freezing cold ash-winds were. The job was done, and that's what mattered. Orcs were being produced in the vats by the hundreds every day, a few dead ones wouldn't cripple their numbers.

* * *

Dâgalûr no longer had remorse or compassion for most who dwelled in Middle-Earth. Everything and everyone he'd ever loved had been taken from him long ago, and his behavior since then had teetered on sociopathy. His shattered conscience took a back seat to the only thing he cared about now, and that was _ vengeance _ . He would do anything or kill anyone to get it, even those he considered to be the few true friends he had. He was the son of slain parents, the husband to a murdered wife, a father to three butchered children, and the master of a slaughtered apprentice. Not one of them had done anything to deserve such a fate their entire lives, but justice is a cruel mistress. Dâgalûr had done some fairly despicable things up to that point himself, but that didn't justify _ their _ deaths. Gondor had just waltzed in, called for another war to take back what they claimed to be their lands, razed the quaint little village Dâgalûr and his wife had settled down in, and massacred everyone who resisted them even slightly.

The worst thing about it was that he was not even close to being the only victim; this sacking had happened repeatedly in villages and towns that bordered Gondorian territory at various intervals over the last few hundred years or so. He had found his apprentice as an infant in the aftermath of one such raid while scouring the rubble for supplies. War after war had been called upon by the corrupt and rotten Stewards throughout the years, though a large chunk of the Gondorian Army opposed the raiding and sacking (Unless it was _ Orc _settlements in question, then there was no hesitation from any of them, down to the last imp). Dâgalûr didn't care, however; They were still to be held accountable for their peers committing such atrocities.

Dâgalûr's greyish blood boiled at the thought that the Kingdom of Gondor were commonly held up as altruistic by the other cultures of Middle-Earth, when in reality they were nothing more than a band of bloodthirsty tyrants posing as paragons. "_ History is written by the victors, and the victors will write the truth about Gondor. _" was a thought that he commonly recited in his head, often several times a week. Once Gondor was absolutely annihilated, its cities razed to smoldering heaps of ashes, its people slaughtered in droves, its women violated to the fullest extent of indecency and perversion, its children worked to death and devoured by wargs, and its legacy purged from history and memory, he would finally be at peace.

Mordor wasn't a much better place than Gondor, but it was still better. At least _ they _ had shown him some grudging respect once he had climbed to the top. Dâgalûr was the "left hand" of Mordor, and he greatly enjoyed some of the perks that came with that position, namely all the food he could eat, some of the finest weapons and armor available in all of Middle-Earth ( _ especially _when compared to that crudely sewn leather and cast iron garbage that the footsloggers wore), and a ticket to be spared from the coming darkness that would blanket all of Middle-Earth, but he didn't truly care about Mordor, or Sauron's plight.

Sauron, although a truly gifted and blessed craftsman and smith, was a deceitful, manipulative trickster, and his soldiers and minions were nothing more than puppets to him, but Dâgalûr was able to see through such disregard for others because Mordor sought to eradicate Gondor, and Dâgalûr was a firm believer in the saying 'The enemy of my enemy is my ally'. He didn't care if he was serving under a liar. He saw through the lies, and had worked, fought, and killed his way to the top, and had slowly gained Lord Sauron's favor along the way, even if he was only viewed as a simple instrument to be used against his enemies.

Many orc leaders detested him, the reason varying from captain to captain, from warchief to warchief, and so on. One reason was that he had chosen the promise of power over his own race. Instead of focusing on the history, rituals, and art of his people (however crude and simplistic), Dâgalûr had cast aside the ways of old and become caught up in pushing the war machine and reducing orcs into cannon fodder and pawns, abandoning the traditions and culture of the tribes. He was the most powerful orc in Mordor, yet had forgotten what had made him an orc.

Others fueled their hatred with racism towards the race of men, pointing out his white, blotchy skin. His only directly visible distinctions from the average human were the upward slants his nose took in an attempt to resemble a more Orcish, piglike snout, and the small, outlying blotches of dark-blue, leathery skin that painted his body, the most distinct of which being one that covered the left side of his face and forehead, and the yellow discoloration of the sclera of that side’s eye. 'Halftark-filth' and 'Pinkskin' they would call him.

He hated them, and they hated him in return. Such was life in Mordor.

* * *

Dâgalûr was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice that someone was trying to gain his attention. It was one of his lieutenants, a bloated, fat orc with heavy facial scarring, leaving him with no visible nose. He held a long, metal staff, the end of which bore a vibrant red cast of an arachnid. Laga was his name, and he was chiefest of the sorcerers and librarians that followed Dâgalûr.

"BOSS! Listen!"

Dâgalûr snapped out of it, giving Laga a dreadful glare, "What in tha' hell do you want?"

"Ya need tuh see this." the lieutenant said, as he pointed something about a mile out in the distance.

The only visible feature on the object he was pointing to was a blinding white light radiating from it, as if Varda herself had called down a star from the heavens and it had crashed down into the earth. Smoke and dust clouded Dâgalûr's ability to get a good look at the rest of whatever it was.

"Look, master, over there. Wha' is that? Sum Elvish trickery been slippin' inta 'ere?"

"I dunno, lad, but I'm goin' in alone to check it out. If I'm not back before nightfall, consider me dead." Dâgalûr said.

He kicked Bolgdyr in the sides and tugged at the reins, and the great and terrible caragor set off for the object.

The ride was bumpy, as the ground was littered with stones and thorn bushes that Bolgdyr was forced to navigate around, but the two reached the source of the light fairly quickly. The object in question was a rift of some sorts, several feet tall, and a gloriously shimmering light was shining from it. Dâgalûr had stopped a few feet away from it, and dismounted. He was absolutely dumbfounded and awestruck.

He'd never gazed upon anything even remotely close to it in all his years. He had seen Necromancy and the like before, but no such wizardry or Elven spell-craft had ever been seen within these mountainous borders. Perhaps it was the result of the experiments by some cult far beyond the Eastern Desolation, or even creatures from the stars. Bolgdyr quickly retreated as far away as his paws could carry him, but Dâgalûr didn't even notice the cowardice his steed had demonstrated, as he was too caught up in whatever phenomenon lay before him. He slowly approached it from the rear, only to find it identical to its front.

Dâgalûr contemplated what would happen if he touched it._ "Will I die? Bah, I got nuffin' left to lose. But will I ever come back? Where would I go? _ " These thoughts ran through his head, and he concluded, _ "I dun' care about this place. Maybe, if I'm lucky, It'll kill me 'nd take tha world with it!" _ Not knowing what to expect at all, he put his open hand up to it, immediately being enveloped within the second he made contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: For those of you reading from 2020 and onward, this entire story has been significantly reworked and updated, but it still retains the events of the original Prologue, with the flashback sequences removed for pacing. Everything is being reworked from its original FF.Net origins in order to provide better dialogue, more realistic interactions between characters, and an overall better reading experience. I’ve finally gained the courage to post this on AO3 after more than 4 years of sticking to Fanfiction.net and revising the first third of the story constantly. I hope you all enjoy this story, and there will be more to come from me soon.


	2. Chapter One: To The Center of the Galaxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon entering the anomaly, Dâgalûr finds himself thrust from the void between worlds and into the forefront of Galactic society, the Citadel, alongside his trusted advisor, Laga. Commander Jane Shepard, Captain David Anderson, and the crew of the SSV Normandy SR1 vessel also travel to the Citadel, and are forced to prove that a Spectre agent, Saren Arterius, is working with the robotic Geth, and that he staged an attack on the human colony of Eden Prime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The cockney/broken English thing for Orcs is a failed experiment that I'll be discontinuing in future chapters, mainly due to the existence of translation technology in the Mass Effect galaxy. Sorry for the inconvenience.   
Also, sorry for the delay between this chapter and the last one. It took me a while to get the energy to keep writing this, as well as time to revise, add, and remove various things from its original draft. I hope to be quicker with new updates, but only time will tell if I’m successful in keeping my word on that.
> 
> Oruchack- An Orcish drug used to improve performance in battle, usually made by crushing up various mushrooms native to Mordor in a bowl, then pouring Ghûl saliva into the mixture for its toxins to activate chemicals in the mushrooms. The tip of a dagger is dipped into the mixture, and the user makes an incision on their arm with the blade so the drug enters their bloodstream, being careful not to cut into an artery. It makes the user enter a trance-like state which renders them virtually immune to pain, but, as a side effect, makes them jittery and jumpy, much like a caffeine or sugar rush. I literally just pulled it out of my ass, like I'll be doing with most things in orc culture, since few things are considered canon to Tolkien’s work regarding orcs.  
Translations: "Ka'aal ekh shabaaz-ri burga, tark-palayi" - "I'll not be taken prisoner, filthy tark!"

** _Chapter One: To The Center of the Galaxy_ **

An icy chill ran down Dâgalûr's spine as he opened his eyes. He looked around to study his newfound location, but he was surrounded by nothingness. He stood upon the cold, dismal shore of an endless sea of darkness, unknowing if he could still consider himself among the living. Was this Ilúvatar punishing Dâgalûr for his wickedness in life? Had Morgoth called him to the shadow beyond the Gates of Night? He didn't  _ feel  _ dead, but he couldn't think of another plausible scenario. Time did not pass here as it had in Arda. Seconds felt like hours in this void.

Dâgalûr floated about in this stretch of shade, as if submerged under the briny deep waves of Nurnen. The minuscule burlap sack he kept his personal possessions in, worn and battered from a century of use, loosened from his belt. Its attempt to escape the confines of Dâgalûr's grasp was quickly ended as he snatched it, and tightened his belt to ensure it couldn't leave him again. His worn Dwarvish eyeglasses, coated with filth and dust, also tried to loosen themselves from his face, but he pushed them back to the top of the bridge of his slanted snout. 

He closed his eyes and pondered about his situation for a few moments, shortly realizing that there was no chance of him escaping, and as the dread set in, he vowed that he wouldn't go quietly into the night.

Dâgalûr parted his dry lips and let out a deep, threatening bellow in a futile attempt to intimidate whoever had trapped him in this realm, turning his head back and forth to ensure the sound traveled far and wide. He was only met with an echo, which quickly faded into silence. Each repeat of the bellow disheartened him, as he finally realized he was helpless in this place, and that his fate was out of his control now.

Dâgalûr removed the knotted rope from burlap purse strapped to his belt, and grabbed a small, brass locket from within, quickly retying the knot. He gently caressed the necklace, unlocking it with the index finger’s gauntlet-claw, and he opened it slowly. 

Inside the left half of the locket was a crude but sufficiently detailed portrait of a woman, no more than 35 years of age. She wore a fine crimson dress with gold trim around the shoulders, which complemented her caramel skin quite well. Her raven hair curled and fell past her shoulders, and her light brown eyes shimmered in the lighting of the small painting. Her nose was fairly small, and she had a half-smile plastered on her face. The portrait only showed the face, shoulders, and upper torso of the woman, but one could tell that her frame was fairly small and petite.

Inside of the other half of the locket, there was a second painting, but this one was of three children. The two boys in the back were roughly 16 years old, and the young girl standing up front couldn't have been older than nine or ten.

The boy on the left was distinctly Orcish in both face and build, with whitish skin and an almost flattened nose, the bridge of which almost merged with his face, while the alae stretched upwards to a slant. He bore dark stubble across his face and neck, and bright, blue eyes. His smile bared his yellow, pointed teeth, a trait he got from his Orcish blood, no doubt. The jawless head of a warg adorned his helmet, and he was dressed in various animal skins that covered bronze greaves and gauntlets. Two thick, leather bandoliers we're draped around his furry chest, crossing in an X shape. Each bandolier had a small pocket situated near the shoulder region, and both were visibly filled with various bits and souvenirs taken from kills.

The boy on the right stood one head shorter than his brother, and was much more man-like in appearance. He bore a lighter shade of the caramel complexion of the woman in the adjacent portrait, and his eyes had the same vibrant blue irises of his brother, but he had a fairly standard, mannish nose. His face was clean shaven, and his black hair was short and neat. He was dressed in a red and black garb underneath a lamellar breastplate, fingerless gloves, and boots made from tanned leather. Upon his back, he had a large, woven backpack, containing many scrolls and letters, and in his hands, he held a papyrus scroll in his right, and a feathered quill in his left.

In front of the two boys stood a young girl, who seemed to be a smaller replica of the woman in the other portrait. She also had the caramel skin, brown eyes and raven hair of her mother, but her nose was flatter and her build was slightly more thick. She wore a forest-green tunic, several golden bracelets on her wrists, and a pair of basic Haradric sandals.

As Dâgalûr looked at the portraits, he understood that his quest to avenge his family's death had been cut short. They had been taken from the world far too early, and by the same Gondorian rats that took everything else from the half-uruk. Every  _ tark _ that still drew breath was an affront to Dâgalûr's very existence. Bitter, angry tears began to well up in his eyes, a mix of frustration, rage, and sorrow.

"Nusaybah, my beloved," he said, putting his finger on the portrait of the woman and gently tracing her outline, "I've failed ya'. Fotkûrz, Hannad, your father has failed ya'. Firyal, my sweet little girl, papa can't make the bad men pay for wha' they did to ya'." Dâgalûr choked out, barely able to keep his composure.

Dâgalûr quickly shut the locket, and stuffed it back into the bag to avoid any further emotional damage. He proceeded to cup his hands, and buried his face in his gloved palms, weeping softly and on the verge of completely breaking down, something that happened when he was left to his own thoughts more than he’d ever admit. He was forced to remember the sight of his daughter's charred corpse lying still on the stone floor of his former home, its embers slowly dying and fading. 

Dâgalûr's family had their whole lives ahead of them. Nusaybah was meant to live out her life with her husband, and die peacefully surrounded by those she loved. Hannad was one of the apprentice scribes of Sibroc, the religious leader of Harad who was said to be the very avatar of the god Ru'Hal, before the Gondorians gutted him like a fish. Fotkûrz had completed his bloodrite and earned the title 'The Slasher' just days before he was beheaded. Firyal was carefree and loved everything and everyone in life before she was set ablaze.

Dâgalûr was practically sobbing by the time he had recounted the worst day of his life. The worst part was that all of the years he spent training, all the time he spent planning, all the blood he spilled in their names, all of it was wasted. His genocidal crusade would never be fulfilled.

He yelled at the top of his lungs to the heavens above, "DAMN YOU, CRUEL GODS! DAMN YOU ALL TO THE VOID!", and proceeded to recover his face with his hands.

As his tears began to dry, he began to come to terms with the fact that he was most likely never escaping this prison. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and tried to accept his newfound torture with whatever willpower and fortitude remained within him.

A few moments after he made himself as comfortable as was possible in this horrible place, his eyes began to burn, as if they had been gouged out with red hot pokers. He let out an inhuman screech, and violently began rubbing them with his palms to attempt to alleviate the pain, but to no avail. All he could see was bright, piercing light as a loud, shrill, almost mechanical shriek assaulted his eardrums. He tried using his hands to block it out, but it only ever so slightly helped. The area around him had shifted from a cold, dark void to a bright expanse of pure, unsullied white. Dâgalûr was suddenly and violently thrust forward by an unknown force, and crashed down onto solid ground, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

To say that the mission to Eden Prime was a disaster would be selling it short. 

Richard Jenkins, a human marine, and Nihlus, the turian Spectre overseeing the retrieval of an ancient artifact on the planet’s surface, were both killed in action. The synthetic geth had ravaged the colony world, and the ancient beacon in question had been deactivated after it had been accessed.

The woman who activated the device? None other than the legendary Commander Jane Shepard of the Alliance Military. She had been knocked unconscious by the beacon’s defense systems, but not before it planted the seeds of what had not yet come to pass, deep within her brain.

She had been carried by her squad to the medical bay of her ship, as it departed from the devastated colony.

Her N7 Onyx armor had been stripped, and her helmet removed, revealing fiery red hair and smooth skin underneath. More than twelve hours passed with no sign of her waking up, and the waiting was killing the crew, especially Lieutenant Alenko. Shepard had risked her life to save his from the Prothean beacon, and if she was hurt or worse, he would absolutely blame himself over it. One more hour passed, then a second, and a third before Shepard’s eyes began to open slowly.

She had just begun to gain consciousness, her surroundings pristine and untouched by battle, a far cry from what she remembered on Eden Prime. She put her palm up to her head in an effort to shield her eyes from the blinding lights over and around her.   
  
“Doctor? Doctor Chakwas? I think she’s waking up.” said a male voice, that of Kaidan Alenko himself, one of the Commander’s many crewmates, and the only other person on the ship who had seen what happened on Eden Prime and lived to tell the tale.   
  
Shepard surveyed the room, and her eyes eventually fell upon an older woman, her silver hair neat and leaning slightly over her right eye. She was fitted in rather standard Alliance casual medic attire, and she spoke with a slight accent, that of the British back on Earth. She was the ship’s doctor, Karen Chakwas, and Shepard herself was almost certainly in the medical bay.   
“You had us worried there, Shepard. How are you feeling?”   
“Like the morning after shore leave…” said the Commander, a tinge of pain in her voice, “How long was I out?”   
“About fifteen hours. Something happened down there with the beacon, I think.”   
“It’s my fault,” Kaidan admitted, “I must have triggered some kind of security field when I approached it. You had to push me out of the way.”   
“You had no way to know what would happen.” Shepard said. Her reassurance made Lieutenant Alenko’s lips curl into a slight smile.   
The doctor interjected, “Actually, we don’t even know if that’s what set it off. Unfortunately, we’ll never get the chance to find out.”   
“The beacon exploded. A system overload, maybe. The blast knocked you cold, and Williams and I carried you back to the ship.”   
“I appreciate it.”   
Another slight smile crossed Kaidan’s face.   
  
“Physically, you’re fine, but I detected some unusual brain activity, abnormal beta waves. I also noticed an increase in your rapid eye movement, signs typically associated with intense dreaming.” Said Doctor Chakwas.   
“I saw… Well, I’m not sure what it was. Death, destruction, nothing’s really clear.” Shepard said solemnly, the visions from the beacon still fresh, but also incomprehensible to her.   
  
“Hmm, I better add this to my report. It may help us better understand what was locked away in that artifa-” the doctor was cut off by the arrival of an older man. His skin was a deep brown, his hair buzzed, and his outfit adorned with many medals and tokens of recognition, “Ah, Captain Anderson.”   
“How’s our XO holding up, Doctor?” he asked.   
“All the readings look normal. I’d say the commander’s going to be fine.”   
“Glad to hear it. Shepard, I need to speak with you, in private.”   
“Aye, aye, captain. I’ll be in the mess hall if you need me.” Kaidan saluted, as he and Doctor Chakwas exited the med bay, leaving the captain and commander to themselves.   
  
“Sounds like that beacon hit you pretty hard, Commander. You sure you’re alright?”   
“I don’t like soldiers dying under my command.” She said, disheartened about what had happened to Jenkins.   
“Jenkins wasn’t your fault, you did all you could.”   
Shepard wasn’t buying it, as loyal as she was to the Captain. “I could’ve saved him if Intel hadn’t dropped the ball, sir. We had no idea what we were walking into down there, and that’s why things went to Hell.”   
“The Geth haven’t been seen outside of former Quarian space for the last two hundred years. Nobody could’ve predicted this.”   
“And what about Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams? Did we leave her back on Eden Prime?”   
“I figured we could use a soldier like her. She’s been reassigned to the Normandy.”   
“That’s good. Williams is an honorable soldier, and she deserves it.”   
“Lieutenant Alenko agrees with you, and that’s why I’ve added her to the crew.”   
“And what’s this about needing to see me in private, sir?” Shepard inquired.   
“I won’t lie to you, Shepard. Things look bad. Nihlus is dead, the beacon’s destroyed, and the Geth are invading. The Citadel Council’s gonna want answers, and soon.” Anderson worriedly stated.   
“We didn’t do anything wrong, Captain, and hopefully the Council can see that.”   
Anderson moved over to the far side of the room, putting his hands behind his back, “I’ll stand behind you and your report, Shepard. You’re a damned hero in my books, but that’s not why I’m here. It’s that  _ other _ turian, Saren. He’s a Spectre, and one of the best. Some say he’s a living legend, but if he’s working with the geth, that means he’s gone rogue. A rogue Spectre is nothing but trouble. Saren is incredibly dangerous, and he hates humans, to boot.”   
“He didn’t come to Eden Prime because he hates humans.”   
“You’re absolutely right. I don’t know how, or why, but Saren’s allied himself with the geth, and it has something to do with that beacon. You were there when it self-destructed. Did you see anything, or find any clues to tell us what Saren’s after?”   
“Just before I blacked out, I had some sort of ‘vision’. I saw synthetics. Geth, maybe. They were slaughtering and butchering people.”   
“We need to report this to the Council, Shepard.”   
“And what are we gonna tell them? I had a bad dream?”   
“We have no clue what information was stored in that beacon. Lost Prothean technology, or blueprints for an ancient weapon of mass destruction maybe? I don’t know, but whatever it was, Saren took it. But I know his reputation, his politics. He believes humans are a blight on the galaxy, and this attack was nothing short of a declaration of war! He has the secrets hidden in the beacon, and an army of geth at his command. He will not stop until every human colony is destroyed and Earth is in ruins.”   
“I  _ will _ find some way to take him down, even if it kills me.”   
  
Captain Anderson shook his head, “It’s not that easy, Shepard. He’s a Spectre, and he can go anywhere, and do almost anything. We need the Council on our side.”   
“We prove Saren’s a rogue agent, and the Council will strip him of his Spectre status.”   
“I’ll contact Ambassador Udina and see if he can get us an audience with the Council. He’ll want to see us as soon as we reach the Citadel. We should be getting close, go ahead and tell Joker to bring us into dock once you get to the bridge.”   
Shepard nodded, as the Captain left the med bay. The Commander quickly moved over to the medi-gel dispensary, brought up her omni-tool, and replenished her supplies before also exiting the medical bay, and moving through the mess hall. Kaidan was seated at one of the tables, and nodded at the Commander as she passed him by, to which she acknowledged him with another nod. She quickly moved up the stairs leading to the Normandy’s first level, and activated the door to the CIC. Shepard moved past the various officers on board the ship, and walked along the bridge to get to Joker, the ship’s pilot.   
  
“Good timing, Commander, I was just about to bring us in to the Citadel. About time we saw that taxpayer money at work.” he joked. The Normandy had just exited the Serpent Nebula’s Mass Relay. Space dust and gaseous clouds acted as a thick barrier, obscuring the view of the Citadel ahead, but not for long. Before the Normandy, there sat a gargantuan space station, with five arms stretching out into space, all of them attached to a ring in the center. The arms of the station were lit up with all manner of lights and electronics, and naturally, as the station housed millions of individuals. This was the Citadel, the heart of galactic society.   
  
Ashley, Kaidan and Jane looked out from one of the Normandy’s two viewing ports, staring in awe at the size of the Citadel and the surrounding defensive fleets.   
“Look at the size of that ship!” Ashley exclaimed.   
“Yep, the Destiny Ascension. Flagship of the Citadel’s fleet.” Kaidan explained.   
“Well, size isn’t everything.” said Joker.   
“Why so touchy, Joker?” Ashley said, a smirk crossing her face.   
“Hey, I’m just saying you need firepower too.”   
“Look at that monster! Its main gun could rip through the barriers on any ship in the Alliance fleet.”   
“Good thing it’s on our side, then” stated Kaidan.   
As the ship passed the Citadel’s fleet by, Joker opened a communications channel with the station ahead, “Citadel Control, this is the SSV Normandy requesting permission to land.”   
“Stand by for clearance, Normandy.” the turian operating Citadel Control responded, “Clearance granted. You may begin your approach, transferring you to an Alliance operator.”   
“Roger, Alliance Tower. Normandy out.”   
As the Normandy approached the docking bay of the Citadel, another voice spoke over a second comms channel, “Normandy, this is Alliance Tower, please proceed to Dock 422.”   
  
The Normandy pulled into Dock 422, gradually decreasing in speed until it came to a halt. The docking bay secured the ship in place, and connected the Normandy’s airlock to its own, allowing the crew to exit their ship. Jane, Ash, and Kaidan all donned their armor and exited their ship. Anderson also left the Normandy alongside the squad, guiding them from the Citadel Security Academy, through the station’s Wards, and to the Presidium levels.   
  
This plan was derailed fairly quickly, as the Wards’ Markets were packed to the brim with civilians panicking, quaking in their boots over something the squad couldn’t immediately discern. Jane turned to the Captain, unable to see what everyone was so worried about.   
“What’s the situation here? Everyone seems scared out of their minds right now.” Shepard said.   
“I don’t know, Shepard. Whatever it is, these people need to be calmed down. I’ll meet you at the Human Embassy in the Presidium. Use the Rapid Transit system to get there ASAP when you’re finished here.” Anderson replied, heading off to a Citadel Rapid Transit station and boarding the incoming shuttle.   
A Salarian in the Markets ran by Ash, Shepard, and Kaidan, the third apprehending the scrawny alien and asking him, “Excuse me, what’s going on here?”   
“There’s some sort of new species on the Citadel, and they’re coming through some kind of portals. We don’t know if we’re being invaded or not and the whole station’s on alert. I’m just trying to get out of here before things get ugly.”   
“A new species? Lemme check the latest news reports.” Shepard said, activating her omni-tool and pulling up the latest Extranet news stories from Citadel NewsNet. Headlines weren’t as fear-mongering as Shepard had anticipated. One of the first to pop up was “ ** _Breaking: Various Anomalies have been Discovered Across the Citadel Wards_ ** ”, but another, titled “ ** _Update: Entities Emerge from Anomalies on the Citadel, First Contact Being Established_ ** ” was what piqued the Commander’s interest. She deactivated the omni-tool and urged her squad to continue forward through the markets, “C’mon, let’s see what all the noise is about.”   
  
Squeezing their way through many a bystander, the group came to a dead end, blocked off by three turian C-Sec officers and police tape. The scene before them was one of extreme caution, as the officers pushed back reporters and curious civilians. Behind the tape, there were two creatures, both lying unconscious on the ground. The first was suited in what appeared to be dark, metallic plate armor. It laid flat on its stomach, unmoving. A torn cape of sorts covered most of its backside. It was empty handed, but wore gauntlets with clawed tips. The second was sprawled out on the floor next to its partner, its skin a mottled brownish-green, and it was covered in red garb and chainmail. It wore cloth pants with leg guards strapped on, and in its hand was a pole of sorts, the end of which bore the symbol of a red, glowing arachnid.   
  
To say that these beings were ugly was a gross understatement. The second creature was grossly misshapen, missing its nose and its face was covered in heavy scarring. The first creature’s face was facing the floor, and the crew couldn’t get a good enough view of it to determine if it was the same race as its accomplice, but the stench coming off of both of them was the stuff of nightmares, not too dissimilar to a fetid mixture of rotten meat and unwashed bodies.   
  
“Oh God, what the hell are those things?” Ashley questioned.   
Kaidan was the most cautious of the group, “Better not get too close, Commander. Who knows what those creatures are capable of.”   
Shepard moved up to the officers, only to be turned away, “Back up, First Contact protocol dictates that we have to assume hostility.”   
“Stand down. I’m Commander Shepard, with the Alliance Military. I can take things from here.”   
“Sorry Commander, we’re under direct orders from C-Sec to not allow anyone past this point until a First Contact Delegation arrives.”   
  
The beast in the plate armor slowly began to regain consciousness, grunting in pain as it moved its arms. Its face still faced the floor, but the news reporters behind Shepard backed up slowly, their video-drones staying in place to continue recording. What the arrival of these creatures meant for the Galactic community at large, Shepard did not know, but with the awakening of the first one, there was only one way to find out.

* * *

Upon regaining consciousness, Dâgalûr could barely see anything, and his ears rang with an unmatched volume. He didn't have the strength nor the willpower to look up, but he could hear collective, muffled gasps and people talking to each other. What they were saying sounded like gibberish to him, which would have normally been grounds for suspicion for Dâgalûr, but he no longer seemed to care. His face was pressed against the cold, hard tiling of the ground, but the air around him was warm and slightly humid, a radical difference from the freezing, arid winds of Gorgoroth. The insulation in his armor was meant to explicitly keep the cold out, and became uncomfortable.

He looked to his side and saw that the walls were made of a sleek, chrome metal, sheets of which were layered on top of each other to give the impression of a shutter-like pattern. They reflected a dim, bluish-white light cast from two oval devices attached to the wall to his right. He looked to his left, only to see something that infuriated him deeply: Laga was on the floor next to him, arms and legs laid out. He was still breathing, as Dâgalûr could hear. Disobedience such as that was punishable by death back in Mordor, but the half-uruk couldn’t risk losing someone as valuable as Laga.   
Dâgalûr pulled himself up slightly, and finally mustered the strength to look up, but what he saw in front of him confused and frightened him.

There were people... no, not people. _ Monsters  _ was a better word to describe them. They wore confusing garb, shimmering, flexible, and covered with vibrant shades of color, the likes of which were not found in Middle-Earth. Armor, perhaps? No, it looked far too soft and fabric-like. Nevertheless, most of them looked at him with an expression of horror, as if he were some void-spawned abomination. Some of them looked like the pinkskins his blade was well acquainted with. Some like blue-skinned women with a head of tentacles. Others like lizard-people from some deep, unexplored part of the jungles of Far Harad, with massive, dark eyes and slim builds. There was a crowd of them standing behind a few strips of yellow tape blocking off the alley Dâgalûr was lying down in.

Behind the crowd, neon red lights illuminated various stalls, and fluorescent, flickering lights were situated at the back of the area. Three of the closest entities were bird-demons of some sort, who looked like their faces had been sculpted from the glassy obsidian of Mount Doom, with broad chests, and knees bent in the opposite direction. They were pointing... things at him, small and compact. Weapons, possibly? He knew that they would use them if he provoked them.

Dâgalûr could see the creatures moving their mouths. It was quite a horrific sight to him, as their "cheeks" appeared to detach and move freely about as they spoke, revealing rows of needle like teeth, but he couldn't understand what they said. It was nothing but clicks and whistles with distorted, unintelligible words mixed in. He knew they were peacekeepers of some sort, but he didn't particularly care for the authority of others.

He slowly pressed himself up with his arms and got to his knees, pushing backwards in order to get to his feet. This seemingly provoked the demons and the crowd, who stared at him, wide-eyed. A fourth "officer" confronted the other three. She was human, unlike the others, and was clad in a suit of shining black plate armor, with a small logo of sorts attached to her breastplate, reading  _ N7 _ in the Common script. She had a look of determination about her, and her scarlet hair seemed as if it were a manifestation of that fiery passion. " _ Heh, looks like sumfin' I'd choose as first pick from a caravan raid. _ " Dâgalûr thought to himself.

The second she caught sight of Dâgalûr getting up, she instinctively drew her weapon, which was longer and larger than that of the demons, and Dâgalûr drew his blade, snarling. He didn’t move forward, hoping to intimidate the woman before things escalated, but he wouldn’t mind putting another pinkskin to the blade. With his sword in his right hand, he lowered down and reached for Laga’s shoulder with his left. One of the blueskins came forward, clothed in a shimmering bright green dress, her hands extended outwards. An offer of peace? To the Void with that, the half-Uruk would see blood spilt here.

Laga finally jolted awake upon Dâgalûr’s touch, and upon looking forward, he scrambled to the back of the alley, firmly grasping his staff, fully prepared for a confrontation with these beasts. The blueskin gestured towards the crowd, her dialect strange yet soothing. He could not understand her words, but her gestures were clear and her intentions were very obviously peaceful. She moved her arms, motioning for the two to get closer as the crowd dispersed. Dâgalûr complied, sword still in hand, and inched closer and closer to the blueskin. When Dâgalûr was close enough, she put her hand softly on the side of his helmet, closing her eyes and having a very pensive look on her face, as if she was prying information from the half-Uruk’s mind. It was painless, but he grabbed her by the wrist and removed it from his temple, trying to signal that he would not stand for her trying to read his thoughts. He let out a low growl, baring his crooked, knifelike teeth.    
  
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she spoke in the Common Tongue. It baffled the two orcs, their eyes wide and their jaws agape. Had this Blueskin just spoken in the language of the Old World?   
“What other secrets have you pried from my mind, demon?”   
“ _ Demon? _ A bit rude, but I take it you’ve never seen someone like me before. Sulelsha.” She gestured to herself, repeating her name a few more times. As she put her hand on his chest, Dâgalûr responded with his own name. As she pointed to his companion, he simply said, “Laga.” He motioned for his Lieutenant to come closer, and he obeyed, something Dâgalûr wished he had done with his prior orders. Sulelsha put a hand on her chest, saying the word “Asari.”   
She moved to the bird-demons, also putting a hand on one’s chest. “Turian.” she said, and she moved to the red haired woman, “Human.”   
  
She moved to the orcs, putting a hand on Dâgalûr’s armor once more. “Uruk.”, he responded. Laga moved up to the blueskin cautiously, his staff in hand. “Orc.”, he said. A smile crossed her face. She was pleased with the progress being made. Dâgalûr sheathed his sword, willing to possibly even cooperate with these creatures.   
  
Sulelsha moved back, telling all but the woman to move aside. Two more humans came forth, one a man with dark hair, the other a woman wearing a helmet streaked with white and pink. The red haired woman moved forward, her weapon still drawn, but she placed her hand outwards in an effort to show she meant no harm.

"_Ka'aal_ _ekh shabaaz-ri burga, tark-palayi_!" Dâgalûr exclaimed, his tongue deep, guttural, and offensive to the ears. No human would get near him, if he could help it. Laga laughed at the statement, but readied his weapon, fearing they would respond with hostility.

The others grabbed at their ears, covering them frantically, as to not have to listen to such a dark and perverse language. Dâgalûr took notice that none but Laga had understood what he had uttered, which was somewhat relieving, as he had just insulted the woman. Nevertheless, he began to clear his throat, moving towards the blueskin, a terrified look on her face.   
  
“Will you interpret for me to them?”   
“O-oh, alright, just please don’t do whatever it was you just did again…”   
He nodded.   
“Tell them that the humans will go no further, else things will end poorly.”   
She spoke to them, and the red haired woman shook her head, heading off with the other two humans to Morgoth-knows-where.

“Now, I want answers.”   
"So do we. Listen, any deviation from what I say will be taken as hostile. Understood?" she replied.

Dâgalûr nodded. "Tell your men to stand down, or I'll give you naught."

Sulelsha looked back at the three turians, nodding her head, as the other three lowered their weapons. They hesitated for a moment, but ended up complying with the order.

Dâgalûr crossed his arms. "Their tongue is garbled, and filled with clicks. How do you speak to them?"

The officer looked somewhat confused. The creature to her left put his head up to her ear and whispered in his language, after which the officer seemed to understand what Dâgalûr had meant.

"Come here." the asari said, beckoning Dâgalûr over.

He slowly walked forward, keeping wary in case she tried anything.

"Turn around, and put your hands behind your back."

Dâgalûr reluctantly complied with her order. If she attempted to pickpocket or trick him, he'd tear her arms off and beat her head into a bloody pulp with them. She reached for her partner's belt, and retrieved a set of handcuffs, quickly putting them around Dâgalûr's wrists. The second he felt the tightness of the cuffs, he turned around and lunged at Sulelsha. Dâgalûr let out a ferocious shriek to express his anger at them. All three of the officers drew their weapons in response, and the crowd panicked, backpedaling to a safe distance. He dared not go anywhere near them, or the officers would surely attack him, something he normally would have delighted in.   
  
“MASTER!” Laga yelled, running forward to attack. He was quickly halted in his tracks by the turian officers, who shot at the floor around the orc to deter him from continuing his attack. Startled by the gunfire, he ran back as far as he could, unwilling to get himself killed in such a way.   
  
The officers were all confused. Dâgalûr’s kind were considered Asaroids more than anything else, even with their orcish deformities, but no Asari-like creature known to the Galaxy could have produced a sound like that. A beast, maybe, but not an Asaroid. Perhaps the creature was a shapeshifter? Since this was first contact, they had to assume that any action was perceived as hostile.

"Get back!" the woman yelled.

Dâgalûr was still growling, but relented. " _ No use tryin' ta break these. Wha'ever weapons they got, I dun want to find out what they'll do ta me. _ ".

"Follow us."

Two of the bird-demons grabbed Dâgalûr by the arms, and the third continued to aim its weapon directly at Dâgalûr's head. They cut the yellow tape, and Dâgalûr saw what he believed to be some sort of market, but he did not at all understand what he saw: the entire area was lit up with lights of every color imaginable, with life forms Dâgalûr could never have imagined. He wondered why Ilúvatar had used the Flame Imperishable to create such nightmarish beings. Was it to punish Dâgalûr yet again?

There were the average humans, which he already knew plenty about, but that was not what confused Dâgalûr. The plethora of abominations that roamed about was. There were the Asari, with tentacles for hair, the lizard-men (who moved and spoke like they had been taken one too many hits from a bowl of  _ Oruchack,  _ Dâgalûr thought), and frog-like beasts with great humpbacks. Massive grey beasts with squid-like faces roamed about, and tall, pink jellyfish floated around, producing bioluminescent pulses from their bodies. Finally, there were small and chubby creatures with some sort of suit on, and the fringed bird-monster Turians, who, now that Dâgalûr had put some thought into it, were even uglier than the hell-hawks patrolling Mordor's skies.

Dâgalûr thought he was in some form of Hell, and that these were demons meant to frighten him. As much as he wanted to, he thought it best to refrain from killing someone in this world;  _ for now _ , at least. He was a stranger to these creatures, and he knew not the firepower they possessed here.

The officers had brought Dâgalûr to a shop of some sort, run by one of the lizard men. After some trade off involving an orange, glowing device attached to the first officer's hand, the merchant gave the officer a small earpiece. They began attaching the piece to the outside of Dâgalûr's right ear. Once it was secured, he switched on the device's microphone.

The officer that held Dâgalûr's left arm spoke to him. "Can you understand us now?" he said, speaking in the Common Speech.

Why did the blasted thing only translate into Common? Dâgalûr considered the language to be useless and foul, and greatly preferred Black Speech, or even Haradric. It was still better than nothing, though.

"Yes..."

"Good, because you've got some questions to answer, buddy."

"So do you... demon."

Dâgalûr turned back to actually get a good look at the officer. He had white streaks of paint all around his face. Was it used to intimidate people? Was it a cultural aspect? Dâgalûr didn't really give a  _ shrakh _ .

"Sir, it'll be best if you come along with us. We'll answer your questions in due time, but since this is technically First Contact, we'll have to let Sulelsha’s delegation study you."

Dâgalûr didn't like the of being studied much, as if he were some oddity. He thought they were going to deceive him, flog him, and pocket his belongings. If they so much as  _ touched  _ his weapons, he'd tear their windpipes out so he could squeeze their screams from them.

"I'm warning ya, you touch my weapons, I'll skip rope with your guts."

"You wanna see what happens if you make another threat?"

Dâgalûr let out a throaty chortle in response.

"We can take it from here, Officer Amultus." Sulelsha said, Laga following not too far behind her.

"Understood."

The demons carried Dâgalûr away, to be interrogated and studied intensely.

* * *

After a few minutes of traversing the lot, Dâgalûr was seated in a small office, with naught but a chair and table. He sat down, as Amultus undid the handcuff on his left hand and chained him to the table. Dâgalûr normally would have torn out the turian’s entrails for humiliating him in such a manner, but there was no point in it anymore, he was already feeling hopeless as he awaited the arrival of the rest of this "delegation" of theirs.

Within a minute and a half, Dâgalûr was greeted once more by Sulelsha, and by one of the lizards. “Vaelip Voks, at your service.” the lizard stated, extending his hand.   
“Dâgalûr, at yours…” he snorted, extending his free hand to shake. Behind them, Laga came in, using his staff as a walking stick.   
"Hello there! I know we’ve spoken before, but I’d like to be the first to officially welcome you into the Galactic Community. We've already spoken with you and your companion, but we're still very excited to work with your race to pave a better future in the millennia to come!" said Sulelsha.

"Bah. Save your pity and mercy for someone who will listen and just kill me already." Dâgalûr responded.   
"Huh? We're not taking you prisoner, and we don't want to kill you, we want to learn from you!" She replied.   
"I meant to ask this earlier, but how do you understand me?"   
"My species has an innate control over our nervous system, and we can 'mind meld' with other individuals to learn from them, if we've been trained, of course. I did that with you earlier, in order to decipher your language. Almost all of our first contact delegations have an Asari with the ability to-"

"And why should we work with you? You’ve given us nothing but a hassle since we got here!" Laga interjected.   
"Excuse me? Not to point the finger, but your companion lunged at me when I restrained him."

Dâgalûr’s patience wore thin, and he envisioned all the ways he could kill these fools. They were in arm’s reach, but something in the back of his mind told him that his homicidal rage would do him no good. Instead, he asked, "Asari? What in the name of Morgoth is that?

"Oh, that's the name of my people. Remember how I moved from one person to another and told you their race?"   
Asari didn't flow off the tongue to Dâgalûr like Uruk did, but it'd do.   
“Sorry to interrupt, but I don’t think I caught the name of your companion.” Vaelip stated.

"He is Laga, the Lore-Master, and my advisor. And what are  _ you _ ? Sulelsha here hasn’t told me the name of your kind yet."   
“Ah, I’m a Salarian. She’s told me that you’re an ‘Uruk’, and that your companion is an ‘Orc’.”   
“Those words are one in the same. I am only a half-Uruk, however. Mankind has cursed me with their blood that flows through my veins. Damn the  _ tarks _ , damn them all…”   
“Is that why you refused to speak with the humans earlier? You have humans in your world?”   
“Indeed.”   
“Fascinating! I’ll be sure to document thi-” Vaelip was cut off by the half-uruk.   
“I think I’ll be leaving now. Laga, you’re the brains here, you stay with them, answer any questions they have.” Dâgalûr said, as Laga chuckled as his superior acknowledged his usefulness.   
"Before you go, we'd like to get you two situated with omni-tools, as well. If you plan on staying on the Citadel, we can also transfer some credits to your names to get you started, but I'd also like to ask you a few questions first."

"Did I stutter? I’m leavin-”   
“Very well. But we hold the right not to answer." Laga interjected. Dâgalûr shot a venomous glare at his advisor, as a rage developed within him.

Over the course of an hour, Sulelsha asked them both a myriad of questions, ranging from "What planet do you come from, and what is it like?" to "What color is your blood?", all of which annoyed Dâgalûr and Laga, but it was in their best interest to cooperate. Sulelsha typed each response into a datapad in front of her, and recorded their vocal responses with her omni-tool, which spooked the two Uruks whenever it flashed into view.

"Alright, that seems to be it! Now, to suit you up with your omni-tools and translators. Your language will take time to record, but it shouldn't be  _ too _ long before we work all the kinks out."

Laga and Dâgalûr were promptly given omni-tools, hooked directly to the armor of their right forearms and hands. Each was equipped with a basic and advanced tutorial to teach the two of them how to use their device, and each was also given a small, grayish, flat chip. It was visual translator, for future installation in their retinas, which wouldn't come in handy until written Black Speech had been translated to an extent. Luckily, the translators also came with a text-to-speech option as both an omni-tool extension, and via Dâgalûr’s earpiece.

"I know this may sound a bit overwhelming, but one of you will also need to accompany us to meet the Council. This is too exciting of a proposition for them to pass up meeting a new species!"

Dâgalûr had no time for more formalities.

"Laga, as your commander, I order you to go."

"But why, boss? You's the commander, you's the one they's gonna want to see."

"That's not a request. It's an  **ORDER** . You’ve already disobeyed me by coming to this forsaken land. If I were you, I’d heed my words." Dâgalûr commanded, his voice booming. He had no idea what came over him in that moment, but it felt  _ good _ to hold that power over someone else.

Laga reluctantly agreed out of fear, and was carried off to meet this "Council" of theirs.

Dâgalûr's handcuffs were removed, and he was left to his own devices in this strange new world.

* * *

Upon the squad’s arrival to the Citadel Tower, Shepard moved up a flight of stairs, and all around her were stunning visuals. Directly ahead was a large fountain, with five jets of water gently gushing upwards. To her left and right were various offices adorned with lush greenery, and beautiful plants from across the Galaxy. Ahead of the fountain was a grove of pinkish trees, reminiscent of cherry blossoms back on Earth to the Commander and Ashley.   
“Y’know, despite all the flak I give the Council, this place is absolutely gorgeous.” Ashley said.   
“Yeah, they really know how to make the place feel serene.” Kaidan responded.   
  
Just in front of the fountain stood two turian C-Sec officers, the first suited in a bluish armor, the second with white face paint, and wearing a more formal attire.   
“Saren’s hiding something! Just give me more time, stall them if you have to.” the turian clad in blue armor exclaimed.   
“Stall the Council?”, his superior replied, “Don’t be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus.”   
Garrus took notice of Shepard, who had been listening in on the conversation. Something about him caught the Commander’s eye, but she wasn’t sure what. He moved to face her and the squad.   
“Commander Shepard? Garrus Vakarian. I was the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren.”   
“Who were you just talking to?” she asked.   
“That was Executor Pallin, head of Citadel Security, and my boss. He’ll be presenting my findings on Saren to the Council.”   
“Sounds like you really wanna bring him down.”   
“I don’t trust him, something about him rubs me the wrong way. But he’s a Spectre, and everything he touches is classified. I can’t find any hard evidence.”   
“I think the Council’s probably ready for us, Commander.” Kaidan interjected.   
“Good luck, Shepard. Maybe they’ll actually listen to you.” Garrus said, as Shepard moved past him to find Captain Anderson.   
  
The squad found the Captain and Ambassador Udina just before the stairs to the Council’s main courtyard. “Perfect timing, the hearing’s just about to start. They’re finishing up something regarding the new species on the Citadel.” Anderson said.   
Shepard looked on, as Sulelsha and Laga stood before the Council.   
“You mean to tell us that you let the other member of his kind loose on the Citadel? What were you thinking!?” The turian councilor reprimanded.   
“I understand you’re upset, but I’m sure he’s not gone far. Besides, what’s he going to do? He only has a sword, and if he causes trouble, C-Sec could easily catch him!”   
“That’s not the point. It was an irresponsible decision.” The asari councilor added.   
“They’re not wrong, but Laga here could prove to be one of the most exciting galactic discoveries since Humanity! I mean, just think about the possibilities of what may be beyond these portals.” Vaelip mentioned.   
“I agree. Even though they released Laga’s companion, the things we could learn from the new races coming through these portals are limitless. We should be committing our first contact parties to this.” said the salarian ambassador.   
The asari councilor looked to her fellow representatives. The turian gave a glare, but he simply shook his head in response to her. She turned the salarian, who immediately gave a nod of his head. A decision had been reached.   
“The Council will commit more resources towards the investigation of these portals and whatever beings are coming through them. Delegates, you are ordered to track down the missing Orc. Take him and any others down to the C-Sec Academy. This meeting is adjourned.” the asari councilor stated rather plainly.  
Sulelsha, Vaelip, and Laga moved down the stairs, and the old orc got the attention of the Commander, “Oi, human! I’ve seen you before, gotta ask you somefin’!”   
“I remember you. You and your buddy aren’t too fond of me, it seems. What is it?” Shepard replied   
“Oh! About that, don’t mind the lad, but that’s what I came to ask ya. If ya see ‘im, come and find me, let me know where he is.”   
“Alright, I’ll keep an eye out for him. Where can I find you?”   
“They said sumfin’ about ‘See-Sec’. I’d fink you know where that is.” Laga said, moving off to catch up with Sulelsha and Vaelip, who had gone further ahead and not waited up.   
  
“All parties in Case 08IDKFA503, step forward.” said the turian councilor.   
Ambassador Udina, Anderson, Shepard, Williams, and Alenko moved up two small flights of stairs, and faced the Council, prepared to deliver their case. The Ambassador, being the one who had brought up the accusations against Saren, moved to the front of the group, and he was ready to convince the Council that their greatest Spectre had gone rogue.   
“Get Saren on the comms channel.” the turian ambassador commanded, and within moments, another turian, his fringe long and his carapace grey, stood before them. A mix of anger and annoyance in his eyes, which fell upon Anderson.   
“Ah, Captain Anderson! You  _ always _ seem to be involved whenever humanity makes false charges against me.”   
“We’ve been informed of the Geth attack on Eden Prime, and that you’ve accused Saren of treason.” said the asari ambassador.   
“While the geth outside the Veil is a matter of concern, Citadel Security found no evidence linking the attack to Saren.” added the turian councilor.   
“That’s a rather harsh accusation, Ambassador. What proof do you bring forward to support your case?”   
“For starters, an eyewitness saw him kill Nihlus in cold blood. How is that not enough proof that he’s gone rogue?”   
“We’ve read the Eden Prime reports. The testimony of one traumatized dock worker is hardly compelling proof.” replied the salarian ambassador.   
“I resent this accusation. Nihlus was a fellow Spectre, and a good friend.” Saren angrily stated.   
“That just let you catch him off guard!” Shepard shouted.   
“And this must be your protégé, Commander Shepard. The one who let the beacon get destroyed.”   
“You’re the one who destroyed the beacon. Then you tried to cover it up.”   
“Shift the blame to cover your own failures. Captain Anderson has taught you well, I see.”, Saren told the Council, moving his head to face them, “But what can you expect from a human?”   
  
“Saren despises mankind, that’s why he attacked Eden Prime!”   
“Your species needs to learn its place, Shepard. You’re not ready to join the Council. You’re not even ready to join the Spectres!”   
“He has no right to say that, that is  _ not  _ his decision!” Udina interrupted.   
“Shepard’s admission into the Spectres is not the purpose of this meeting.” reminded the asari councilor.   
“This meeting has no purpose, Councilor. The humans are wasting your time, and mine.”   
“You can’t hide behind the Council forever!” Shepard yelled.   
“There’s still one outstanding issue: Commander Shepard’s vision, the one triggered by the beacon.”   
“Are we allowing  _ dreams  _ as evidence now? How can I defend my innocence against this kind of testimony?”   
“I agree. Our judgement must be based on facts and evidence, not wild imaginings and reckless speculation.” noted the turian councilor.   
“Do you have anything to add, Commander Shepard?”   
“You’ve already made your decision. I’ll save my breath.” Shepard replied, looking at the floor in defeat.   
The councilors looked at one another once again, coming to the same conclusion.   
“The Council has found no evidence of any connection between Saren and the Geth. Ambassador, your petition to have him disbarred from the Spectres is denied.” said the asari councilor with confidence.   
“I’m glad to see justice was served.” Saren replied snarkily.   
“This meeting is adjourned.”  
  


* * *

  
Although Shepard was rather angry at the Council’s decision, she did not hold a candle to the rage and sorrow flowing through Udina. Humanity was in grave danger now that Saren was free to roam as he pleased, and his alliance with the geth would only serve to bring ruin to mankind unless proof could be found of his treasonous ways. He was the last person to leave the hearing, standing on the podium in shock at the Council’s decision, but he rejoined Anderson’s crew shortly coming to terms with it.   
  
“It was a mistake to bring you into that hearing, Captain. You and Saren have too much history, and it made the Council question our motives.   
“I know Saren well, and he’s working with the geth for one reason: to exterminate the human race. Every colony we have is at risk. Every world we control is in danger. Not even Earth is safe...”   
“Then we need to take matters into our own hands if the Council won’t help us.” Shepard responded.   
“As a Spectre, he’s virtually untouchable. We’d need to find some way to expose him.”   
Kaidan had mostly remained silent since before the case, but finally spoke up with a lead. “What about Garrus, that C-Sec investigator? We saw him arguing with the Executor about Saren.”   
“That’s right! He mentioned needing more time for his report. Sounded like he was close to finding some dirt on him.” Ashley said.   
“Any idea of where we could find him?” Shepard asked.   
“I have a contact in C-Sec who can help us track Garrus down, his name is Harkin.” Udina replied.   
“Forget it. They suspended Harkin last month for drinking on the job. I won’t waste my time with that loser.”   
“You won’t have to. I don’t want the Council using your past history with Saren as an excuse to ignore anything we turn up. Shepard will handle this.”   
“I’ll take care of it.”   
“I need to take care of some business. Captain, meet me in my office later.” Udina stated, leaving the group.   
Anderson turned back to Shepard, “Harkin’s probably getting drunk in Chora’s Den. It’s a dingy little club in the lower section of the Wards.”   
“I thought you said he was a drunken loser.”   
“Couldn’t hurt to at least talk to him. Just be careful, I wouldn’t call him reliable.”   
“Alright, I should go.”   
“Good luck, Shepard. I’ll be in the Ambassador’s office if you need anything else.” Anderson said, heading to the Rapid Transit Station on the far side of the Tower.

* * *

Dâgalûr's first idea with his newfound freedom was to simply sit on the ground and study his new omni-tool intently, searching and learning about each race and their customs. After an hour or two of studying with very limited resources (his visual translator was not put in place) and pre-installed ‘vids’, he concluded that he would best fit in as a mercenary, or as muscle for hire. He was not in his prime shape, but with enough jobs, he was confident that his old eating habits would die out, and that he would be fit to take on a dragon. After learning all he could about the denizens of this place, Dâgalûr wandered the area discreetly, trying not to draw attention to himself. That was until he found a small bar, with neon lights above that read "Chora's Den", next to the lit-up silhouette of an asari suggestively relaxing.    
  
He opened the door to the nightclub, and entered to the sound of techno beats, and a scene of asari in rather revealing latex outfits dancing on tables, something that greatly pleased his loins, but now was not the time nor the place for that. He walked up to the counter to be greeted by a turian bartender. If he was to get by in this newfound world, he sure as hell wouldn't be doing it while sober.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked.

"Got any grog?"

"Coming right up."

He grabbed a small bottle that read "Original Spiced Rum", and on it was an image of a privateer dressed in red. The bartender poured a shaker halfway to the top with its contents. He then pulled out a bottle of iced water, a novel idea to Dâgalûr, and poured it until roughly three quarters of the mixer was full, then mixed the concoction, until it was mixed thoroughly, and poured it into a shot glass.

It looked and smelled absolutely nothing similar to the dark, sticky concoction Dâgalûr knew as grog. Nevertheless, there was only one way to find out what it was, and that was to sample it. Upon sipping it, Dâgalûr found that it tasted of overwhelming sweetness and spice. This was not grog at all, but a favorite of those who sailed the high seas: Spicedrink. It brought fond memories of Dâgalûr's years as a Corsair of Umbar along the Gondorian coast, earning a living by pillaging trade vessels.

Despite this nostalgic trip down memory lane, the drink dissatisfied Dâgalûr, so he just asked for some of the strongest stuff the house had. The bartender pulled out a large vial of bluish liquid in response.

"Got some uncut Batarian ale here. Don't ask how I got it." he mentioned, pouring it into a taller glass.

Dâgalûr chugged the drink without thinking twice. It was quite strong, tasting tart and bitter simultaneously. He could feel the liquor taking hold, but it was not enough.

"Not strong enough. What else you got?"

"How bout this?"

He pulled out another vial, this one containing a green, viscous liquid.

"Called Ryncol. It's krogan liquor, volatile stuff really, only krogan can really handle this.”

Dâgalûr knew he had to have it. "Hand it over."

"I've never seen a human stomach this. Your funeral, pal."

The bartender didn't know that Dâgalûr was no mere human, however. He was an  _ Uruk _ , through and through, despite his father's mannish lineage.

"You don't know who you're talking to." he said, as he chugged what little was in his shot glass.

It burned just like grog did and he loved it, and smelled just as foul, although it tasted like stomach acid.   
  
As he finished his final drink, the door to the bar opened again, as the human woman from earlier entered with her two companions. Dâgalûr tried his hardest not to confront them, but they were not here for him, but instead they spoke with a man on the far side of the bar. Their conversation was short lived, but they then turned towards a large krogan bouncer, arguing with another member of his kind. Dâgalûr turned back to the bartender.

"That'll be 75 creds, bud." The bartender gestured his hand forward as to say "pay up".

Dâgalûr put a small coin purse on the bar, untied the twine holding it shut, and dumped its contents out onto the counter, which were several sliver bits, each bearing an eye with a slit in it. He had credits to spare, but he figured physical currency was worth more.

"What's this supposed to be?" the bartender said, inspecting one of the coins. "I'm not accepting these. Seriously, gimme 75 credits now. Or else."

He didn't intimidate Dâgalûr. "Or else what?", he said, shoveling his coins into the bag and reattaching the purse to his belt.

The bartender gestured for two krogan bouncers from the far ends of the bar to come to him. One was a stout fellow, about eight heads high, who had been talking to the other krogan and the humans, while his partner was shorter and stockier. Both had a twisted smile across their faces, ready to fight the half-Uruk.    
  
"Kick his ass."

On his command, the two krogans pounced Dâgalûr. He grabbed the one on the left and made a swift, powerful headbutt that staggered the bouncer. The thickness of the krogan's skull was unexpected, however, and left the half-Uruk reeling. The bouncer on the right grabbed Dâgalûr from behind, which wasn't as smart as the krogan thought it would be, as the grapple was broken with a swift elbow to the gut. With the bladed elbow tip of Dâgalûr's gauntlet, it tore a hole in the krogan's clothing and skin, causing him to bleed an orange, viscous ichor.

Before the fight got any worse, two Turian officers from C-Sec barged in, alongside Sulelsha.

"What's going on in here? We had reports of gunfire outside the bar." the first officer asked

"This guy tried to get away without paying for his drinks!"

Dâgalûr was furious now." **OI!** I offered you money, but ye wouldn’t take it!" he insisted, his voice booming, and as loud as a roaring blaze.

"Look, until this is sorted out, you're coming with us." The second officer said, handcuffed Dâgalûr, the two bouncers and the bartender, and transported the orc and bartender to the C-Sec Academy for questioning. Medics came in to patch up the bouncers, but the damage to the first krogan's belly was rather extensive.

* * *

At the Academy, all involved parties were questioned about what had happened. Dâgalûr had told the officers his side of the story, while the bouncers and bartender told theirs. After a few hours had passed, Dâgalûr was forced to cough up the 75 credits he owed (plus an additional 100 for disturbing the peace), and the three workers were released, each being warned that one more offense would lead to jail time. Before being transported to another part of the C-Sec Academy to rejoin Laga, Dâgalûr was confronted by the same human woman as before, this time accompanied by the human man, and a Turian in blue armor.   
“I can take him off your hands, officers.”    
Dâgalûr would not be taken by the human, no matter what authority she held.   
“No can do, Shepard. We’re under orders from the Council.”   
“Alright, I should go.” she said.   
Just after she left the Academy, and just before Dâgalûr was hauled off, he witnessed the same krogan from the bar, clad in scarlet armor. He was doing what the half-uruk was so tempted to do to a human officer.

"Witnesses saw you making threats in Fist's bar. Stay away from him."

"I don't take orders from you." the krogan retorted, his voice gruff and hoarse. Scars adorned his face, each telling a different story.

"This is your only warning, Wrex."

"You should be warning Fist. I  _ will _ kill him."

"You want me to arrest you?"

"I want you to try!"

" _ This 'Wrex' fella' could come in handy ta me later. Wonder if  _ ** _he_ ** _ accepts my money. _ " Dâgalûr thought to himself.

The half-uruk was moved to a holding cell for a small while, before Laga was brought to him.  
"Master, they've been looking everywhere for you! What were you up to?" he asked.  
Dâgalûr told his lieutenant of his arrest, and the two laughed hard and loud for all to hear.  
They were set to be released shortly, and after filling out the necessary paperwork via a datapad, they had officially become Galactic citizens. One of the human officers confronted the half-Uruk shortly after he was released, "Listen, you're among a new species here, so this is your first and only warning. Don’t disturb the peace again. Next time, you're going to be left alone, rotting in a cell. Understand?"

Dâgalûr only responded with a hearty laugh, baring his teeth, and considered spitting in the officer’s face. He was back off to the Wards, ready to completely disregard what the officer said and hopefully spread a little mayhem.


	3. Chapter Two: Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and her crew members stage an assault on the Chora's Den Bar to find vital information on Saren Arterius. After his run-in with the law, Dâgalûr runs in with Shepard again, this time after a battle with a group of hired thugs. The young quarian Tali’Zorah is rescued from them, and the group visits Human ambassador Donnel Udina and Captain Anderson to tell them about the information the quarian has, info that would expose Saren to the Citadel Council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So, uh, about those story updates I said were coming. A lot has changed since I last posted here. We're in a global pandemic and I still can't be arsed to write that much, even as I'm stuck at home, despite really wanting to continue this. I've got big plans for this story, rest assured, but by Chapter Six or so, I'll be done with revising/reposting chapters and will be forced to create new ones from the ground up. I'll try to give some level of communication on my profile about how each chapter is coming along as I make them, but as you likely know from my months-long absences, I can't make any promises for consistent updates.

** _Chapter Two: Recruitment_ **

Commander Jane Shepard was racing against time. She needed proof that Saren was working with the Geth, and every minute that passed was another minute that Saren could spend plotting the extinction of humanity. His betrayal would go unnoticed if evidence wasn’t provided soon. She also knew that Fist, the local agent for the devious Shadow Broker, had just the quarian to provide the evidence she needed. Fist knew she was coming, however, and prepared accordingly.

Shepard drew her _ Lancer I _ assault rifle and began to tread carefully up to the door of Chora's Den, preparing for a firefight. Wrex was ready to just get on with it and kill Fist, and charged forward into the bar, blasting the turian bartender down in a cluster of shotgun pellets, blue blood splattering across the bar counter and the walls. Garrus took the opportunity to snipe two of Fist's hired thugs with well placed rounds, sending their personal shields into disarray, then turning their brains into red mist.

Now came the real challenge within the bar: taking out the Krogan bouncers. Fortunately, Wrex's distraction also provided the perfect window for Shepard to gun down one of the bouncers with her rifle, sending his body flying forward as he charged into a haze of bullets. The second bouncer, enraged by the deaths of his coworkers, flew into a frenzy, charging down Garrus and tackling him to the floor. Wrex, reveling in the slaughter of Fist's men, flared up his biotics, throwing his kinsman into the wall, and pinning him with boxes long enough for Shepard to take out her pistol and gun down the krogan. The rest of Fist's guards were no match for the three specialists, all of them getting killed in one way or another.

With the bar cleared out, the squad proceeded into the corridor leading to Fist's office, opening the first door. Upon seeing the incoming squad members, two men working in the back drew their pistols.

"Stop right there, don't come any closer!"

"Warehouse workers? All the real guards must be dead." Garrus explained.

"Stay back, or we'll shoot!"

Shepard was having none of this. "I just killed fifty bodyguards to get in here. What do you think I'll do to you?"

"Uhh... Well, uh..." The first worker wiped the nervous sweat from his brow, ready to abandon his employer.

"Ah, screw Fist. He doesn't pay us enough for this." The second worker said, as the pair lowered their weapons and walked out of the bar.

"It would've been quicker to just kill them." Wrex interjected, disappointed with the lack of violence in the solution.

"Shooting people isn't always the answer." Garrus retorted.

With all of Fist's guards taken care of, there was only one thing left to do. The squad made their way into his office, taking cover behind the nearest wall.

"Why do I have to do everything myself? Time to die, little soldiers!" Fist exclaimed, calling for two turrets mounted to the floor to spring up and begin targeting the squad.

Wrex deployed a mass effect field to shield himself shortly from all the gunfire of the turrets, charging up to one and ripping it straight off the floor, throwing it at the other one, and destroying them both. Garrus focused his sniper fire on Fist's knees, taking care not to kill the agent, but also making sure he couldn't get a clean shot at the now vulnerable Wrex. Shepard provided a perfect distraction, firing round after round into Fist's armor, causing him to turn away from Wrex and face Shepard and Garrus, who landed the shot and sent Fist to the floor.

"Wait! Don't kill me! I surrender!" Fist said, crawling back to avoid the three squad members approaching him.

"Tell me where the quarian is and I won't have to shoot you in the kneecaps again." Shepard replied.

"She's not here, I don't know where she is. That's the truth!"

"He's no use to you now. Lemme kill him." Wrex said. He was paid to do his job, and he damn well was going to do it.

"Wait! Wait! I don't know where the quarian is, but I know where you can find her. She's not here, said she'd only deal with the Shadow Broker himself."

"Face to face? Impossible. Even _ I _ was hired through an agent."

Fist began to pick himself up, stumbling to his feet, making sure not to put pressure on the leg that was shot.

"Nobody meets the Shadow Broker. _ Ever _. Even I don't know his true identity. But she didn't know that. I told her I'd set a meeting up, but when she shows up, it'll be Saren's men waiting for her."

Shepard was livid at this point, and pointed her pistol right underneath Fist's chin. "Tell me where that meeting is before I blow your lying head off!"

"Here on the wards, the back alley by the markets. She's supposed to meet them right now, and you can make it if you hurry."

Knowing that Fist would not yield more information, Wrex pulled out his shotgun and, as he begged for mercy, blasted Fist's face into an unrecognizable, bloody pulp strewn about the floor. His job was complete, and he expected his payment to be automatically credited to an account on his omni-tool soon enough.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" exclaimed Garrus.

"The Shadow Broker paid me to kill him. I don't leave jobs half-done."

"A lot of people died because of him. He had it coming. Now let's move, we still need to save that quarian." Shepard said, rushing for the alleyway.

* * *

Dâgalûr made his way to the elevator that led to the Presidium, trying to get away from all the newfound attention given to him from news reporters and xenobiologists. As he came across a door to his left, though, he came to a halt, overhearing a conversation. He took his helmet off and put his ear to the door, hoping it wouldn't open and blow his cover.

Dâgalûr distinctly heard a young woman's voice, but it was metallic, as if the user was more machine than flesh, but also with some form of Haradric-like, exotic accent. The other person he could make out to be a male turian, there was no mistaking it.

"Did you bring it?"

"Where's the Shadow Broker? Where's Fist?"

"They'll be here. Where's the evidence?"

"No way. The deal's off."

Dâgalûr couldn't resist anymore, and opened the door manually with his omni-tool. He saw the turian, a young quarian, and two salarians, all in the center of the alley, and at the other side of the alley stood the same scarlet-haired woman from earlier in the day, alongside another turian and a krogan, watching undetected from the other entryway into the alley. The turian in the center quickly took notice of Dâgalûr .

"Get lost, bud, before I blow your brains out." He drew the attention of everyone in the alley to Dâgalûr.

Two simple words exited his mouth. "Make me."

The turian fired two rounds from a pistol, aimed straight for Dâgalûr's chest and head. Just before the trigger was pulled, the half-Uruk had lifted his Galvorn shield to his face, protecting him from harm for the most part, but sending a shockwave through his body. His hand hurt like hell from the deflection, but he would live, unlike his assailant.

"Shouldn'ta' done that, fool." Dâgalûr said with a brutal, grizzled chuckle.

The turian did not know it, but firing the rounds was his death sentence. The quarian leapt out of the way, and a small electric detonation went off near the salarians, staggering them. Dâgalûr charged straight at the turian, shield raised, his torn cape flowing freely, and tackled him to the ground. Throwing his shield to the side, he let a mighty orcish roar as he fell to the ground, and proceeded to beat the turian across the floor, feeling his naturally-armored head resist less and less with every punch and slam into the ground. The woman and her companions, along with the quarian, began to open fire on the other two assassins, killing them in a shower of bullets.

They then watched in horror as the turian's mortal existence was cut short when Dâgalûr tore his jugular open with nothing but his teeth and feasted upon the bluish flesh within. With his belly filled, he got to his feet and used his cape to wipe the freely-flowing blood across his face and scraggly beard, as the other four individuals backed up slightly and looked at him with a sense of horror, disgust, and confusion. Dâgalûr grinned let out a low chuckle as he inspected the four of them.

The quarian turned back to the three, trying to ignore the grizzled beast next to her. "Fist set me up! I knew I couldn't trust him!"

The woman leading the others asked, "Were you hurt in the fight?"

"I know how to look after myself, not that I don't appreciate the help. Who are you?"

"My name's Shepard. I'm looking for evidence to prove Saren is a traitor."

Dâgalûr had no idea of what these nutcases were talking about. He recognized the name Shepard from earlier, knowing that she could not be trusted.

"Then I have a chance to repay you for saving my life. But not here. We need to go somewhere safe."

The krogan pointed to Dâgalûr. "What about him?"

The four turned their attention back to Dâgalûr.

"You again?"

Dâgalûr planted a grimace on his face. Nobody really wanted to talk to him, let alone be within his line of sight, out of fear of enraging him again. On top of it all, he smelled foul, like a mixture of rotting flesh and body odor. Nobody had picked up the scent until just then, but the quarian quickly blocked the offending scent from entering her suit, and the krogan showed no visible reaction. Shepard gagged, however, and the turian backpedaled slightly to distance himself from the odor.

Shepard finally broke the silence. "What the hell is that stench?"

Dâgalûr gave no answer, but let out a low croak.

The turian nudged Shepard with his elbow. "Careful. He’s one of those Uruk things that’s been all over the news."

The krogan crossed his arms, "Last I checked, your race was new around here. Here’s a tip: don’t eat turians, at least not in plain sight." he said, chuckling to himself at the end.

"He just killed that guy with nothing but his hands and teeth, and _ ate _ a part of him, and you’re cracking jokes?"

"I fail to see the issue in his joke, _ turian _.” Dâgalûr said, shooting a venomous glare.

"If he's on our side, I don't care what he is." Shepard retorted. "I remember you from earlier. You've made quite the news here on the Citadel. Who are you?"

Dâgalûr extended his hand. "Dâgalûr." Shepard reluctantly shook it.

"Shepard." She pointed back to the turian. "This is Garrus, And this is Wrex." Dâgalûr nodded at the two aliens behind her, and they gave him the same begrudging nod. "What's your business here?"

"I have no business here. I wandered over here from the 'Academy'. Damned bartender at Chora’s Den wouldn't take my coin, so he sent his goons after me."

"Commander, with all due respect, do we really need to take him with us? Someone new to the Galaxy would just slow us down." Garrus stated rather bluntly to Shepard.

Dâgalûr responded by snorting at the turian, attempting to intimidate him enough to get him to shut his gob for more than ten seconds.

"Garrus, we don't have time for you two to be at each other's throats."

"I suppose you're right. We could just take them both to the Human Embassy. Your ambassador will want to see this evidence anyway."

The five of them continued to head to the Presidium, Shepard finally being relieved that the clock was no longer ticking, at least for the time being. Along the way, the quarian nudged Dâgalûr to get his attention. "I also wanted to thank you for saving my life back there along with Shepard, Dâgalûr." She struggled to correctly pronounce his name, "Did I say that right? Anyway, I don't know how I can repay you. I doubt you'll find any use in what Shepard needs."

Dâgalûr didn't care about a reward. Nothing in this galaxy meant jackshit to him. Especially not some stranger's life. There was one way she could repay him, but Dâgalûr didn't want to rot in a cell if she said no, so he didn't even bother asking. "Forget about the reward. I got to scratch my killin’ itch, and got a free meal out of it. That's a reward in and of itself." 

He just wanted her to stop talking.

* * *

When they arrived, they were met with two humans, whom Dâgalûr believed to be politicians. The elder one turned to Shepard, obviously disgruntled with the situation.

"You're not making my life easy, Shepard. Firefights in the Wards, an all-out assault on Chora's Den, do you know many…" He had turned around and paused, surprised to see them all. "Who are these? A quarian and one of these new 'orcs' I've been hearing about? What are you up to, Shepard?"

"Making your day, ambassador. She has information linking Saren to the geth, and he... well, we can't figure out what to do with him."

"Well then, maybe you better start at the beginning, miss…"

"My name is Tali. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya."

"And mister…"

"Dâgalûr."

Ambassador Udina redirected his attention to Tali. "Anyway, we don't see many quarians around here. Why did you leave the flotilla?"

"I was on my pilgrimage, my rite of passage into adulthood."

"I've never heard of this before." Shepard replied.

"It is a tradition among my people. When we reach maturity, we leave the ships our parents and our people behind. Alone, we search the stars, only returning to the flotilla once we have discovered something of value. In this way, we prove ourselves worthy of adulthood."

"What kinds of things do you look for?"

"It could be resources, like food or fuel, or some type of useful technology, or even knowledge that will make life easier on the flotilla. Through our pilgrimage, we prove that we will contribute to the community, rather than be a burden on our limited resources."

"When will you globs just _ fucking get on with it? _" Dâgalûr thought to himself.

"Tell us what you found."

"During my travels I began hearing reports of geth. Since they drove my people into exile, the geth have never ventured beyond the Veil. I was curious. I tracked a patrol of geth to an uncharted world, I waited for one to become separated from its unit, then I disabled it and removed its memory core."

The younger of the two men, whom Dâgalûr didn't catch the name of, appeared to be decorated with medals. He finally spoke up. "I thought the geth fried their memory cores when they died. Some sort of defense mechanism."

"How did you manage to preserve the memory core?" Shepard asked.

"My people created the geth. If you're quick, careful, and lucky, small caches of data can sometimes be saved. Most of the core was wiped clean, but I salvaged something from its audio banks." 

As she said this, she fiddled with her omni-tool, which emitted the voice of a turian. "_ Eden Prime was a major victory. The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit. _"

"That's Saren's voice! This proves he was involved in the attack!" The younger man exclaimed.

Shepard spoke up. "He said Eden Prime brought him one step closer to finding 'The Conduit'. Any idea what that means?"

"The Conduit must have something to do with the beacon. Maybe it's some kind of Prothean technology; like a weapon."

Tali continued. "Wait, there's more. Saren wasn't working alone." 

She played the recording over again, but after Saren's voice, another, more feminine voice said, "..._ And one step closer to the return of the Reapers. _"

"I don't recognize that other voice, the one talking about 'Reapers'." The ambassador said.

Shepard was confused. "Are they some kind of new alien species?"

"According to the memory core, the Reapers were a hyper-advanced machine race that existed 50,000 years ago. The Reapers hunted the Protheans to total extinction, and then they vanished! At least, that's what the geth believe."

The ambassador had to put his two cents in once more. "Sounds a little far fetched."

Shepard had a look of pure shock on her face, as she slowly put the pieces together. "The vision, back on Eden Prime. I understand it now. I saw the protheans being wiped out by the Reapers."

"The geth revere the Reapers as gods, the pinnacle of non-organic life, and they believe Saren knows how to bring the Reapers back."

The ambassador rolled his eyes. "The Council is just going to_ loooove _ this..."

Dâgalûr was growing impatient. He was _ through _ with being nice. He would show them what a true Uruk warrior could do if they didn't hurry this along. However, given that he and Laga had been separated, and given the sheer size of the station they were on, it was unlikely that he would be reunited with his lieutenant so easily, especially with no plan.   
  
Shepard showed genuine concern. "The Reapers are a threat to every species in Citadel Space. We have to tell-"

"No matter what they think about the rest of this, those audio files prove Saren's a traitor!"

"The captain's right, we need to present this to the council right away."

Wrex finally opened his mouth. "What about her? The quarian? And the... Whatever-he-is?"

"My name is Tali!"

"You're itchin' for a good shanking, aren't ya?"

"You saw me in the alley, Commander, you know what I can do, let me come with you!"

"I thought you were on your pilgrimage."

"The pilgrimage proves we are willing to give of ourselves for the greater good. What does it say about me if I turn my back on this? Saren is a danger to the entire galaxy. My pilgrimage can wait."

Attention then shifted to Dâgalûr, with a silence broken only by Shepard. "What about you, Dâgalûr? Do you have somewhere you've got to get going?"

The half-orc saw an opportunity arise at the commander’s question, "No, I've got nowhere in this hellhole to go. Sure as hell ain't getting home anytime soon. Since you've finally shut your gobs, I can say, it sounds like you need every blade you can get, though. You've seen what I can do to my enemies, Commander. The choice is yours."

"I'll take all the help I can get. You're both in."

The two moved behind Shepard. "Wise decision."

"Thanks. You won't regret this."

The ambassador interrupted again. "Anderson and I will go ahead to get things ready with the Council. Take a few minutes to collect yourself, then meet us in the Tower.”  
The two men moved out of the way of Shepard and her crew, and exited the office.

"If you see my boy Laga there, tell him to report back to me." Dâgalûr half heartedly stated

"Dâgalûr, Wrex, I think it'd be best if you two headed back to the Normandy."

"The what?"

"It's our ship."

"You travel by boat in this universe?"

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Sure, Dâgalûr and his lot were new to the Galaxy, but were they _ really _ so primitive as to not know what spacecraft were? 

"Just, when you get there, inform Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams that she's to report to me immediately. She'll be downstairs in Storage."

Upon being issued orders, the krogan and half-uruk set off to the Citadel’s docking bay.

* * *

As the two made their way back to the ship, Dâgalûr began questioning the krogan next to him. "So, what's your story, Wrex?"

"There is no story. It's the same as all krogan. The turians and salarians took our virility, let’s just say, and used a genetic mutation to sterilize my people."

"Listen, you overgrown lizard, it’s a simple question. Give a straight answer."

"That's all there is. Nearly all krogan newborn are stillborn, and most never even make it that far. Would you want to talk about it if it were your species?" He pointed a finger at Dâgalûr, "And, by the way, if you ever call me 'overgrown lizard' again, you'll be coughing up your own guts."

"I've eaten bigger rats than you." Dâgalûr let out another low-pitched growl to the krogan next to him.

"Hmm… the fact that you had the guts to keep running your mouth after my threat makes me respect you a little more, greaseball."

"You're on thin ice, krogan. You saw me stop two of those death-pellets and what a mess I made out of the turian back there. I'd choose your next few words carefully."

Wrex merely responded with a chuckle. He could _ easily _break this... orc, whatever it was, in half, if he wanted to. He simply dropped the conversation.

After a few minutes of walking, the two got in C-Sec Academy's elevator and went up, which slightly unhinged Dâgalûr. He had never been in such a device before, but he kept his composure where any lesser orc would have lost their mind as the glass chamber raised upwards, taking the two warriors with it. The two then found their way to the ship (which, as Dâgalûr found out, was definitely _ not _ a boat), and boarded it. As they entered the first room, an overhead voice began to say, "Decontamination in progress", as the small room filled with mist and a screen passed over them. Both of them felt greatly uncomfortable during the process, but it was a necessary step to avoid offworld germs.

After that, they walked onto the ship's bridge, passing the Command Deck. They descended a flight of stairs and went for another elevator ride, which Dâgalûr was mentally prepared for this time, before coming to a large room with a six-wheeled vehicle in it, which read 'M35 Mako' along its side, and boxes stacked everywhere. They were the Engineering and Storage sections of the Normandy, and the two of them made themselves at home, with Wrex leaning against the wall to the right, and Dâgalûr leaning against one of the beams supporting the track that the Mako travelled on. In the far back of the room, a woman was standing over some sort of counter, tinkering with advanced weapons Dâgalûr could not comprehend.

Dâgalûr went over to her and asked, "Are you Ashley Williams?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

It took all of Dâgalûr's strength not to sock her right in the jaw. "Shepard wants to see you immediately."

"Alright, I'm on it."

The Gunnery Chief went off to join the current squad, taking the elevator up. Dâgalûr then proceeded to decorate the beam with Mordor's flag, one of his only keepsakes from home. After an hour of nothing but silence, the only sound being the breathing of the two warriors, Tali, Ashley, and Garrus made their way down, with Laga not far behind.

"About time you showed up. So, what happened?"

"They were a wee bit shocked. Couldn't handle a bit o' Uruk, it seems."

This made the two orcish companions laugh, fairly hard at that.

"But that Asari, though, Sulelsha…"

Dâgalûr was almost in tears laughing, much to Laga's chagrin. Had one of his highest ranking soldiers, an ancient librarian and sorcerer, _ really fallen for a blue tark _?

Tali made herself comfortable in Engineering, Ashley returned to her original position, Garrus decided to look over the Mako, close to Dâgalûr, and Laga took a seat on a stack of boxes. Shortly thereafter, a voice spoke over the intercom.

"This is Commander Shepard speaking. We have our orders: find Saren before he finds the Conduit. I won't lie to you, crew. This mission isn't going to be easy. For too long our species has stood apart from the others. Now it's time for us to step up and do our part for the rest of the galaxy. Time to show them what humans are made of!"

It took all of Laga's and Dâgalûr's willpower, combined, not to laugh at that statement. A pinkskin's a pinkskin, no matter what dimension.

"Wherever Saren goes, we'll follow. Wherever he searches for the Conduit, we'll be there. We will hunt him to the very ends of the galaxy and bring him down!" Every crew member in Storage stood around each other and listened as Shepard continued, "Humanity needs to do this. Not just for our own sake, but for the sake of every other species in Citadel Space. Saren must be stopped, and I promise you all… we will stop him!" As Shepard's inspirational speech had concluded, the crew went back to what they were doing, with Dâgalûr deciding to catch up on some much needed sleep.


	4. Chapter Three: Getting Accustomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her crew assembled, Commander Shepard speaks with the individuals she picked up for the job, and Dâgalûr gets a physical performed by the Normandy's resident medical professional, Karen Chakwas.

Following the speech, Shepard knew she'd have to get acquainted with her new squadmates. She made her way down to the Normandy's lower levels to chat with the crew, namely Garrus, Wrex, Tali, and Dâgalûr. The conversation with Garrus seemed to endure for quite some time, as if the two had no cares in the world.

Dâgalûr, awakening sluggishly, managed to overhear most of it, as Garrus spoke of his carrer at C-Sec and sense of justice. To the half-uruk, this was laughable. Morality was a foreign concept in Uruk society, moreso since Sauron had ascended to power once more. Shepard managed to calm Wrex after provoking him with memories about the Genophage, and her chat with Tali was rather short lived.

Upon reaching Dâgalûr, who was just waking up, she sparked a discussion with the former overlord.

"Hey, Dâgalûr, just trying to get an idea of who I picked up. Got some time to answer a couple questions?"

"Feel free to ask, but know that I have the right not to answer any of them."

"Of course. My first question is pretty straightforward: where exactly did you come from? I've read the Extranet reports about you and your buddy," she stated, pointing towards Laga, "but I'd like to know more."

"We come from the land of Mordor, the lands of shadow."

"What system is that planet in, though?"

"What?"

"Your planet, Mordor, what star system is it in?"

"The name of my planet isn't Mordor, that's the name of the region. The name of the world is.." Dâgalûr paused for a moment. He had heard the name before, but it eluded his grasp now.

"Arda." Laga interrupted. The old orc was well versed in the history of his world.

Shepard began typing on a small projected datapad on her omni-tool. "Arda? Interesting name."

"As for what "system" it's in, I couldn't tell you. We know little of the stars." Dâgalûr continued.

"Well, what's your planet like?"

Laga, being much more knowledgeable than his superior, interrupted again, "There are three continents: Middle-Earth, which is where we come from, the Lands of Valinor to the west of us, and the Dark Lands to the south of us. Valinor is unreachable by all except the Eldar, and the Dark Lands were inhabited by Ungoliant, the spider-demon."

"And what about this ‘Middle-Earth’?"

"Middle-Earth? It’s got a wide range of climates, from the ice bays in the north, to the deserts and jungles of Harad in the south."

"How did humans get there, though? We never colonized this world."

"They are one of the children of the 'Father'," said Laga disgustedly, "and have thus been in Middle Earth since the beginning."

This hokey religious preaching didn't sit too well with Shepard, but she quickly changed the topic, "What's it like where you lived?"

"Mordor itself is a climate divided. The north is freezing from all the ash on the ground and dust polluting the air, and the only heat is from Mount Doom, which sends massive clouds of black smoke to blot out the sun. The only fertile area in that region is a large plain to the east in which most of the wildlife in Mordor survives. The south was lush and green because of the inland Sea of Nurnen, but now us Orcs have been settling in and using slaves to strip the land and gather food for our growing armies. Now just about all that remains are the slaves themselves, and the beasts in the depths of the sea."

"Life sounds harsh."

"It is. Only the strongest survive day to day life outside the army." replied Dâgalûr.

"Who is this army led by?"

Dâgalûr once more intervened, "Sauron the Great. I myself am one of his greatest champions, his 'left-hand-Uruk', if you will. He's been breeding us Uruks, along with Wargs, and the mighty Olog-Hai, in masses for the coming war. He's also managed to sway the Southrons and the Easterlings into his ranks. When he regains his ring of power from the clutches of our enemies, so that he may once again take physical form, these endless hordes will be unleashed upon the rest of Middle Earth, and none shall be left standing in our way."

"The more you explain your world, the more it sounds like a fantasy vid."

"A 'vid'? What's that supposed to mean?" Dâgalûr retorted, a perplexed yet irate grimace on his face.

"It's just a form of entertainment people watch. Most of em' nowadays are pretty low quality, but there are quite a few gems under all the garbage."

Shepard, still typing, looked up and stared at the torn banner hanging overhead from the support beam.

"Is that your people's flag?" she said, pointed to the ragged black cloth, which bore a crimson circle with a slit dividing it at the center.

"It is. It bears the Eye of Sauron."

"My next question, if you'll allow me to intrude a bit, is what exactly are you? I know the report said you were a new species of some sort, but I'd like you to elaborate."

Dâgalûr paused for a moment, processing what Shepard just said.

"So, you want to know my story, eh?"

"If that answers my question."

Laga gulped. He knew this story, and he understood that it killed Dâgalûr inside to tell it.

"It started about one and a half thousand years ago. The year was 1451 of the Third Age. My mother, Tormatum, was an Uruk, and a lieutenant at the time. She had left her home to hunt for the most dangerous weapons she could discover. My father, Sufyan, was a blacksmith in the south, but he was never respected. It was his damned Gondorian ancestry. He had pale, ghostly skin, and passed it down to me."

Dâgalûr paused to swallow. " _ He's _ the reason I look more human than Uruk. I don't know whether to bless him or damn him. This skin's made it so hard to earn respect from the Orc mobs. I sometimes gotta just show them who’s the boss, make an example of anyone who would go against my orders, though since I’ve been packing on the pounds recently, it’s gotten a bit harder to keep up the fighting when it happens.”

Dâgalûr’s comment on his weight jumpstarted Shepard’s memory, "That reminds me, you need to see Dr. Chakwas as soon as you can. I need an up to date physical on you if you're gonna be seeing active combat soon. Sorry to interrupt. Go on."

"Anyhow, On the other hand, this skin's made it easy to spy on Gondor unnoticed, so long as I don't bleed an' just put on a lil' makeup. He did give me this." He stroked his blood-matted, entangled beard as he spoke of this. "so there's another plus. I didn't get much from my mum's side, but if one thing I got from her sticks out, it's my mindset. I've been raised around humans enough to control my bloodthirsty impulses while still holding onto my Orcish nature, and that's the only reason I haven't tried to act on impulses and done to you what I did to that turian."

"OK….." Shepard backed up slightly, unsettled by the notion that Dâgalûr's race was made up of raging, uncontrolled beasts. "It's almost like his race is a combination of humans and krogan, with a little vorcha mixed in..." she thought to herself.

"But hold on, you need to fill me in a bit. Who's Gondor?"

"Gondor,  _ feh _ , they're the enemy, the lot of them, they think it's okay to mercilessly slaughter us Orcs because they're more civilized."

"I think I've heard all I need to know about your backstory, but what are you wearing on your face?" She was referring to the dwarvish-made eyeglasses that Dâgalûr was wearing.

"What, these old things? I need them to see because I was nearly blinded by my old drinking habits. Without them, everything is blurry. I stole them off of a dwarven merchant's corpse on the side of a road years ago."

"We can fix that up with a bit of laser surgery. Do you have any comments or remarks before I leave?"

"I do have a few. I'm telling you now, the struggles I undergo mean more to me than any of the  _ shrakh _ that goes down here. In return for helpin' you, I expect you to answer my call for help whenever it may be. I'll leave in a heartbeat if you don't agree to that."

"Dâgalûr, the mission comes first, but I'll give you my word that I'll help you with something in return for your work in the field. Anyway, I'll leave you to what you were doing."

"So be it."

Shepard began briskly walking up the stairs towards the uppermost levels of the ship. Garrus, who had been listening to the entire conversation, questioned Dâgalûr's validity. "Was what you said about 'Middle-Earth' really true, or are you just weaving a tale as you go along?"

"It was, and after seeing the reports and news back on the 'Citadel', do you really doubt me?"

"I guess you do have a point. And chill, I'm not trying to instigate anything, just joking around a bit. You take things a bit too seriously it seems."

"Sod off."

Dâgalûr sat and drew his sword, sharpening its blade for a bit, and shortly afterwards headed up the cargo hold's elevator, in order to pay a visit to this 'Dr. Chakwas'.

* * *

Dâgalûr's boots clanked against the steel of the floor, his presence commanding the room. He trudged his way over to the med bay, not too keen on what butchery may happen to him there. He pushed up his clunky glasses and entered the med bay of the ship to the sight of various electrical devices and metal tables. Sitting at a desk was an older human woman with short, platinum blonde hair, typing away on a datapad. Next to her was a young lass, ebony hair draping over her shoulders, most likely the assistant to the first.

"You must be the Doctor, I take it?" Dâgalûr said.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Dâgalûr. Shepard filled me in to let me know to prepare the physical. Have a seat on one of the beds and we'll begin."

Dâgalûr went for the closest of the operating tables and took a seat upon it, lying flat on his back while Doctor Chakwas prepared the questions she was required to ask.

"First, do you know your weight and height?"

"I couldn't tell you height, but me weight's about 21 and a half stones."

Doctor Chakwas was somewhat shocked how someone at that weight could expect to be ready for combat, unless of course it was pure muscle.

"Alright, I'll need to make a few measurements, then."

After measuring Dâgalûr's height, it came out to be 6 foot 5 inches. He towered over Doctor Chakwas and her assistant, but was still dwarfed by most elcor and hanar. The doctor was unsure of the average weight of an Orc, as there were only two known specimens in the whole of the galaxy, but going by human standards, Dâgalûr was fairly heavy at a whopping 300 pounds.

"Alright, you'll need to go on a strict exercise regimen beginning today, and following that we'll need to have you sit out one or two missions before we can determine if you're healthy enough to see combat. A few simulations and we'll see."

Dâgalûr tried his hardest to not respond with  _ 'Feh, what would you know about Orc physique?'  _ and replied with a simple "Understood."

"Second, what's your age?"

Dâgalûr performed a bit of mental math to calculate his age, as being alive for as long as he had meant that years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. He replied, "1,565."

Chakwas was both skeptical and astounded by this answer. Nevertheless, she had no idea what the average lifespan of Dâgalûr's race was, and typed it into the datapad.

"Do you have any physical handicaps we should know about?"

"Aye. these here," Dâgalûr pointed to his glasses, "Help me see. I'm blind as a bat without 'em."

"Well, we can fix that up with a bit of laser surgery. We can replicate it here on the Normandy, and can get it done before you're out of here today."

"Good. One less problem with this beat up body."

"Any alcohol or drug use?"

"I drink more than I eat most days."

"Noted. Any hereditary issues, serious injuries or illnesses?"

"I've been beat up on a daily basis, if that counts as a serious injury. My legs and arms have been broken more times than I can count in this tongue. I have more scars than years to my life. Nothing on illnesses, though. I don't think I've been sick a day in my life. Not that I can remember, at least." Dâgalûr explained in a more hardened tone.

He felt his cheek, his gloved hand running down it, feeling every minute graze of a blade and slash of an axe. It gave his face a bumpy texture as he ran his hand on it, and he felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue. Although his teeth grew back endlessly, there were still plenty of scars from where war hammers and maces slammed against his jaw.

Chakwas typed ceaselessly on her datapad, noting down every detail of the info Dâgalûr was giving her.

"That's a good sign. It indicates your immune system is strong. And you must have one hell of one if your body healed all those scars you say you have. Now, if you could, I'll need to see what's under that armor of yours."

Reluctant to part with his armor in an unfamiliar world, the half-uruk eventually complied after some coercing from the Doctor, stripping down until only a loincloth remained.

Chakwas was completely unprepared for what ungodly sight lay beneath that armor. Not only was the scent of carrion and death itself much more prevalent, but Dâgalûr's entire body was covered from head to toe with scars of all kinds, and his sickly pale skin was riddled with infection and caked on dirt. This was proving to be a hefty order for Chakwas and her assistant, and one that would be time-consuming. Nonetheless, if Dâgalûr was to be in prime fighting condition within a handful of missions, he needed far more than standard exercise and dieting.

They would be forced to start with patching up any open wounds and infections. With some stitching, antiseptic wipes, and disinfectant creams, his wounds were largely covered up in just an hour and a half, and he was permitted to re-arm himself. Afterwards, the smell had mostly cleared up, but his mouth was laden with tartar buildup and his gums bled profusely when provoked. Although Chakwas was no dentist, she used her scalpel to carefully scrape against Dâgalûr's teeth, eliminating most of the accumulation of tartar and plaque. Next would be the part Dâgalûr dreaded most of all, but knew was absolutely necessary for his continued survival: correctional vision surgery.

The half-uruk was restrained to one of the examination tables as the correctional surgery began. His eyeglasses were removed, and his eyeball was pried open with metal clamps to ensure he did not blink. His cornea was flattened as the laser did its work, but not without Dâgalûr screeching and screaming, trying to escape. The majority of the ship was riddled with his cries, everyone wondering what unholy force was causing such a noise in the med bay.

After 15 minutes passed, both eyes were corrected, his visual translator chip from Sulelsha had been implanted, and special goggles were placed over the half-uruk's field of vision to prevent damage over the next day.

"Despite all the screaming, you performed rather well Mr. Dâgalûr. I've forwarded your exercise regimen to Shepard, and your physical is now on record. You're free to go."

As Dâgalûr left the med bay, Shepard spoke over the intercom: "Garrus and Wrex, please report to the Command Deck." Almost immediately, the turian-krogan duo exited the elevator and passed the half-uruk as he made his way down to Storage.

* * *

After about an hour had passed, with nobody in the storage area save Ashley, the Requisitions Officer, Dâgalûr, and Laga, an unbroken and awkward silence filled the air. Dâgalûr decided to muster up the courage to descend into the engineering section and have a conversation with Tali, the two not having said a word to each other since the rescue. He was extremely nervous, feeling some form of tingle within him he had not felt in ages. He could not pinpoint it, but he just tried to ignore it to the best of his abilities. His voice almost completely trembled with nerves, but he assured himself in his head that he was as powerful as Sauron, even though he could feel very human emotions.

"Uh, Tali? Do you think we might be able to talk for a second?"

She turned around to face him, her bright, white eyes being the only thing Dâgalûr could see beyond her envirosuit’s mask. They seemed to have an almost surprised, yet nervous, look to them as they darted around.

"Oh, uh, hey Dâgalûr." Her voice almost sounded as shy and withdrawn as his, "Of course. What did you have in mind?"

"...Truth be told, I didn't think I could get this far in this conversation without my nerves getting to me. I'm really not great at small talk. Anything you want to talk about?"

As nerves boiled away and tension died down, the two decided to truly spark an exchange.

"I watched the Citadel newscasts recently, and if I may ask, what language were you speaking? There's no recorded language I could find in any database that matches it, pre-spaceflight or not."

"It is the tongue of my people, the Black Speech of Mordor. My people can speak Westron as well, the language of the humans, but we prefer Black Speech when we're with each other."

"And where is this 'Mordor'? what system is it in?"

" _ Here we go again... _ " thought Dâgalûr, the persistence of this question infuriating him slowly but surely.

"I know not how I came here, nor what a 'system' is."

"Well, what of your people? You mentioned 'Uruk' back on the Citadel. That's another term I'm unfamiliar with."

"Ah, yes, the Uruks are the elite breed of Orc, perfected to resist daylight and be larger than the common rabble and  _ Snaga _ . My mother was one of the few known female Uruks, and from what I can remember, she was stunning compared to the rest of our race. She's long gone, however… I’d rather not talk about that, though.”

"I know what it's like to lose your mother; mine passed about five years ago. Know that I share your pain, and should you want to talk about it, I’d be open to it."

"It’s appreciated."

"I’m sorry to change the subject, but what exactly are Orcs? Were they just introduced into the galactic community?"

"They were originally Elves in the First Age of our world, but our ancient lords took them, and bound them to darkness. They mutilated, tortured, and selectively bred them over generations until they created the Orcs, made to be the backbone of their armies."

"Keelah, that sounds horrifying."

"It truly is. We've talked too much about me, though. What of your people?"

"Life isn't easy. My people were driven into exile from our homeworld by the geth. Now we live aboard the Migrant Fleet, in cramped living quarters. We put a large value in trust and loyalty, so there is rarely a disagreement over our limited resources. Food isn’t too abundant, and it doesn't help that our DNA is based around dextro amino-acids, so we can't eat the food of levo amino-acid based organisms, like humans, and orcs, I assume. We place no value on personal possessions, and take only what we need. Tight-knit families are common, and it's illegal to have more than one child unless there's a population crisis. Our laws reflect on our migrant nature, and young adults are required to go on a pilgrimage, like I mentioned before. Also, due to our weak immune systems, we have to wear these enviro-suits. That's about as much as I could really tell you, though."

"I have one final question for you, then I will leave you to what you were doing."

"Hm?"

"Will you help me figure out how this blasted 'omni-tool' works? The tutorials taught me the basics, but I'm still clueless on what to do."

"Sure. Engineer Adams, do you think you'll be alright without me for a while?"

The man to her right wordlessly nodded, being quite engrossed in his current tasks. With the approval of the Engineer, Tali and Dâgalûr made their way back to Dâgalûr's lounging place, with him plopping down on a nearby box while the quarian got on her knees. The orange glow of the tool illuminated his goggles and her visor as it brought up a holographic screen requesting a passcode, which the Servant of Sauron input while facing away from his counterpart.

As the hub menu was pulled up, it made much more sense to Dâgalûr, having had his translator implanted.

It took Tali mere minutes to explain the ins and outs of the tool to the half-born, and he was downloading games and surfing the Extranet in no time. She returned back to Engineering, content with listening to Dâgalûr's over the top reactions to the wonders of the Galaxy, reminding her of herself at a young age.

Among the games that caught Dâgalûr's eye was one titled 'God of War", an old human video game having been released on Earth about 178 years ago.

Its summary on the Extranet read:

_ "God of War is a third person hack-and-slash video game developed by Santa Monica Studios and published by Sony Computer Entertainment (SCE). First released on Earth on March 22, 2005, for the PlayStation 2 (PS2) console, it is the first installment in the series of the same name and the third chronologically. Loosely based on Greek Mythology, it is set in ancient Greece with vengeance as its central motif. The player controls the protagonist Kratos, a Spartan warrior who serves the Olympian Gods. The goddess Athena tasks Kratos with killing Ares, the God of War and Kratos' former mentor who tricked Kratos into killing his wife and daughter. As Ares besieges the city of Athens out of hatred for Athena, Kratos embarks on a quest to find the one object capable of stopping the god once and for all: Pandora's Box." _

With a summary like that, Dâgalûr could  _ not _ pass it up. He himself pined for vengeance, so he thought that it may teach him how to achieve his dreams.

As he loaded up the adventure and began to take control of this 'Kratos', he found himself engulfed in his struggles, his plight, his hatred towards the god who had wronged him. He empathized with someone who most saw as a cold-blooded killer. If there ever was a chance to meet this warrior, he knew he had to buy him a round of drinks to dull his pain.

* * *

Garrus, returning from the mission, prodded Dâgalûr gently, hoping not to anger him.

"Huh? What time is it?" Dâgalûr was oblivious to his surroundings, having been so engrossed in the game.

"Shepard's requested everybody meets her up top in the comm room."

"Alright, I'm coming."

The two made their way up to the Command Deck and entered the comm room, taking the two seats between Tali and the empty seat next to Wrex. Garrus, who had been on the mission, seemed worried about Shepard, who looked as if she were troubled by something.

Kaidan, however, was the first to speak. "Are you okay, Commander? You look a little pale."

Ashley had to pipe up with her cynical nature that Dâgalûr couldn't stand. "It's that damn Cipher! That asari messed you up good! And for what? We still don't know where to find that stupid Conduit! What a waste!"

Shepard, who had some kind of traumatic experience, as Dâgalûr pieced together, finally spoke up. "She said it could take a while. I needed the Cipher. It's going to lead us to the Conduit. I'm just not sure how yet."

Kaidan remembered, however, that they had another option, "We still have another lead, Commander. That asari scientist in the Artemis Tau Cluster. The Matriarch's daughter. She's an expert on the Protheans. Maybe she knows something."

"Don't worry, we'll deal with her soon enough. Crew dismissed."

Dâgalûr, taking that as his cue to get the hell out, did so, as the rest of the crew left to return to their duties. They could still hear the pilot of the ship, who Dâgalûr knew as "Joker", as he spoke to Shepard over the intercom.

"I've sent off the Feros report, Commander. You want me to patch you through to the Council?"

That was the last thing Dâgalûr heard as he went back to his usual dwelling, returning to his following of the story of this 'Kratos'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: OK, so I still can't figure out what I wanted to do with this chapter. It was most likely going to be a slice of life, but it kinda fell short of that. After all these years, I’m still trying to figure out how to write natural character interactions, ones that don’t seem forced and robotic. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t, but I suspect once the ball gets rolling on my writing again, and once there’s more action happening, that things will come to me naturally and will be more engrossing and entertaining to read (I hope they are now, of course, but this chapter in particular just doesn’t feel like the others so far for whatever reason). Nevertheless, I’m having fun writing this, and here it is. It also technically will advance the plot since the Feros mission happened offscreen, so there’s that. Hope you all are doing well in these crazy times, and I’ll hopefully be able to get the Therum chapter up to par with my current writing abilities and published soon.


End file.
